


Collected Stories:Love and Family

by peoriapeoria



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the as posted versions of my Peter Venkman and Egon Spengler 'figure it out' stories that precede When One Man Loves Another. They were written late 1990s-early 2000s.</p><p>Chapter Four is the crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By Any Other Name

Ecto pulled into the firehouse wearily. The worksuited men stepped out, smoothly opening the cargo door and emptied the back of traps and packs with a shocked precision. As they completed the post-bust procedures, getting the ghosts into the containment grid, the accelerators cycling and the jumpsuits cast away, they broke apart. Egon headed upstairs and Peter followed.

"Spengs." Peter stepped close and grabbed Egon, pulling the taller man into a tight hug. He felt the familiar large hands settle on his shoulders. The scene had replayed so many times since the founding of Ghostbusters. It was a crazy business that could hinge on the least little thing. For or against.

Egon held his dark-haired friend, understanding how bad a bust this had been. It had unsettled him as well. Mostly busts went by the numbers. It was the exceptions that kept them honest, like this last one. He tipped his head, waiting for Peter's quip that would make this last brush with death recede comfortably enough to be borne.

Peter looked up, about to make the wiseass remark that was his stock of trade. But then the pattern shifted ever so slightly, a realignment of mere inches. An accident of two small deviations. Lips met.

Peter's eyes went wide and Egon's shut. The kiss started slow and built, like a well-laid fire. First a simple press together, it then opened, hands cupping in support of the mouths' exploration. They slipped apart naturally, not quite breathless, arms still comfortably circling.

Green eyes sparkled bright, a smile teasing across his lips. Concerned blue depths regarded back from a set face. Egon's arms went rigid. They continued to stand, gazes as locked as their embrace.

Before either could formulate words, footsteps approached. They stepped apart.

Ray entered, smiling. "That was something, wasn't it guys?" The auburn haired man exuded excitement.

Peter and Egon exchanged a sideways glance.

"I, for one, hope we don't have another one like that." Winston walked behind the shorter Ray, dropping a hand on his shoulder. "Pizza?"

"I think one close encounter per night is a good idea. No offense, Ray." Peter smiled widely.

"And you think pineapple isn't of the third kind?" Egon's bass rolled around the words.

Winston laughed.

"I wondered when you'd come down." Egon swirled the spoon around the saucepan and deftly poured two mugs. He handed one to Peter and claimed the second for himself.

"This means you want to talk." Peter looked over the rim of the cup as he drank the smooth warmth. He waited warily for Egon's next move.

"You want to forget about it?" The phlegmatic delivery held no reproach.

"Spengs." Peter passed the mug to the other hand and sat it down on the counter. "Do you?" The words were a little too bright, a brittle alloy of hope and fear.

Egon looked at Peter firmly.

"Okay, so we talk. You'd think you're the psychologist." He grabbed the mug and started for the table.

"If I don't miss my guess," Egon's voice hinted at the absurdity of that notion, "Ray and Winston will descend on the cocoa once it is obvious that it's not walking in on its own." He strode out of the kitchen.

Peter quickly topped off his mug before following upstairs, nonchalant.

Egon was waiting in the lab, sipping his cocoa. He looked up as Peter stepped inside and closed the door.

Peter walked over to stand by his friend. "So, where did you want to start?"

Egon put down his mug on the table. He rested his hands on Peter's shoulders. He stood there for a long moment, looking into the green eyes intensely.

Peter found the table with his mug as he held the gaze. He cupped the newly free hand over Egon's. Peter paused. "How about where we left off?" He closed the space between them, reaching up to kiss.

Egon fell into the spirit, a hand cradling Peter's head while the other arm pulled him tight. Peter was glad for the support because the mouth against his was heady. Soft and strong, its heat poured into him.

Egon felt the hand stroking the nape of his neck, noticing the feel of Peter's hair under his fingers. He pulled back, ending the kiss.

Peter looked up into the depthless blue eyes. "You've been holding out on us, Spengs." His mouth crooked into a smile.

"Peter." With a will Egon disentangled his hands from the dark hair and stepped back.

"Uh uh." Peter snagged a hand, keeping Egon in arms' reach. He smiled as the hold was returned. "If there was a Nobel for it, you'd have it."

Egon plucked the P.K.E. meter off the table, pointing it first at Peter and then himself. He looked down as it stayed silent.

Gently Peter unwrapped the long fingers from the device and replaced it on the bench. "Not ghostly possession. We should have that talk." Peter kept hold of both hands, anchoring them.

"Doesn't this strike you as odd?" There was an undercurrent to the words.

"Compared to what? I'm serious." He clutched the hands that tried to pull away. "Any stranger than the goopers in the containment grid? Any stranger than our friendship?" There was an edge to his words.

Egon's eyebrow arched.

"How did you learn to kiss like that? Okay, so it is odd. I think by now that would be familiar." He smiled slightly as his eyes darted.

"Are you sure, Doctor Venkman?"

Peter swallowed at the intense look. "As sure as I've ever been." Thought fled as lips closed and then opened over his. If he'd thought he'd been kissed before, he was wrong. He held on tight as his mouth was methodically plundered. He pulled just enough attention from meeting the lips to draw them towards the couch before his knees gave up and dropped him on the floor.

He was surprised as he was laid down and Egon leaned over him. Peter's breath left him as the lithe form settled and covered him. He responded to the decisive course-blazing, digging his fingers into the remarkably soft blond hair as his hips bucked. He turned his head, brushing his lips over the fair skin. It was a one-way express. Exerting more will than he thought he had left, Peter wrapped his arms tight around Egon and squeezed. Temporarily stilling the taller man, Peter half-shucked their pants out of the way.

It was quick from that point. Peter muffled Egon with his shoulder, the teeth against his flesh somehow shocking himself into matching silence. Afterwards, his one hand rubbed small circles in the small of Egon's back while the other ruffled blond hair.

Egon lay there for a moment collecting himself and then tensed. Sitting back and breaking Peter's grasp he pulled up and roughly refastened his pants. He stood and walked over to the workbench.

Peter looked up confused as Egon's face resumed its normal controlled expression. Without anything else to do coming to mind, Peter eased the zipper of his jeans back up. "Egon." A waver of a question haunted it.

"You better grab a shower." The words held nothing more than they would have after a bust.

Peter flashed a questioning look. Finding no answer, he put his game face on and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Egon's shoulders slouched. His arms crossed, hands sliding over the surface until first his elbows and then face dropped.

Trust the night not to go quietly, thought Peter. "Somebody get a trap under this. Now." He winced as the more than vaguely insecty-appearing ghost lunged, chittering and pinchers snapping. He kept a firm bead on the gooper until the fan of bright light drew it into the trap and the doors snapped shut. "Thanks. Can we go home now?"

Egon looked at the PKE meter. "I'm reading only residuals."

"Good. Because this place still needs an exterminator." Peter jumped as the bugs skittered out into the returned shadow.

Winston shook his head. "You're a real headcase, you know that, Pete?"

"Goes with the job. Spengs, don't stop for any fungus, okay?"

"Let's grab breakfast on the way back." Ray stepped into the false dawn that was making the night-sky blue.

Peter missed the rest of the morning. Especially after getting up in the wee hours for a bust, he liked to sleep in as long as he could manage. His glance at the clock surprised him. It was nearly noon. Why... His head fell back on the pillow. Pulling him out of bed was Egon's job.

He doubted it was anything as simple as an oversight. It was an old habit, so old that Egon would even delegate waking Peter to Ray or Winston if there was pressing work in the lab. Peter quickly threw on some clothes, swung through the kitchen for a snack, then headed for the lab.

Egon looked up at the knock. He watched as Peter stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob. "Enter."

Peter sat on a vacant stool. "Talk to Uncle Peter. It's not like you to give me a minute's peace." He watched as Egon pursed his lips and let them relax several times. Normally not a patient man, Peter waited for Egon to chose his words.

"Have you thought about it?"

Whatever he'd been expecting, Peter knew that wasn't it. Not that question, not in that tone.

Egon stood, his back to Peter. "I can't stop. It shouldn't have happened. Not that way." He turned at the gasp.

Peter got himself under control as he registered the rest of the statement. "How should it have happened?" His grin evaporated at the passionate look that was quickly shuttered.

"I have work to do." Egon sat back down and resumed his esoteric labors.

Peter blinked. Realizing that short of crossing the streams he wasn't going to regain Egon's attention, he let himself out of the lab.

"Should I be checking the basement for pods?" Winston looked at Peter tying the garbage bag shut and pulling it from the can.

"Huh?" Hefting it and the collected bag from the other wastebaskets, he walked to the sidedoor and undid the latches. He stepped out briefly and then came back in, relocking the door.

Winston's eyes went wide when Peter actually replaced the liner and the can to its correct location. "Okay, I'm checking for the pods."

Peter shrugged as the other Ghostbuster headed for the basement. If he'd been washing dishes when it wasn't his turn, Winston would have had a point. Though, he was going to track down the MIA dirties.

The Next Night...

"We are going to talk." Peter sat the plate of sandwiches down. Egon had missed several opportunities to display wit during the day's busts. Otherwise he'd been holed up here in the lab all day. Peter had had enough suspense.

"Peter."

"I screwed up. You wanted to talk, and I interrupted. Though you seemed amenable." Peter smiled smarmily. "So, talk, Spengs. Use all those twenty dollar words you've been saving up."

"You really are incorrigible."

"You noticed." Peter fluttered his eyelashes. "Come on, the doctor is in."

"Why?" The word hung portentously. "No, I know you, Peter. This is seriously outside your parameters. Or is there actually something you've kept secret?"

"I don't know." Peter let Egon ponder that while he worked out the minefield his friend had laid in the second question. "Want to have a go at your own question? Okay, you're right. I'm a horndog and have no memoirs to write because I've already kissed and told all. Petey Venkman is in new territory. It's early for a midlife crisis, so maybe I'm growing up."

Egon looked askance.

"I'm wounded to the quick." Peter folded his hands over his chest melodramatically. He dropped them to his side. "It could happen."

"Stranger things have happened."

"We've been paid pretty well for some of them. So, how about you, Spengs?" His light tone slipped. The possibility that Egon had kept something hidden taunted Peter.

"I have no hypothesis." The bass wavered infinitesimally.

Peter's eyes went wide at the laconic confession. Egon loathed not having any answer; he'd rather present the flimsiest of antecedents. "You mind if we sit down?" He crossed and plopped onto the couch.

Egon looked bitterly at the furnishing. "I'm going to have to get rid of that." He sat at the far end from Peter, arms resting along tops of legs.

"This couch?" Peter draped possessively over it. "Egon, what is wrong?" The psychologist sat up, scooting closer to the physicist. "Tell me the problem."

The blond head turned, blue eyes burning like a laser. "I don't do quickies."

Peter formed a shocked little 'o'. "That the only problem?" The words sounded vaguely wishful.

"Peter." The name came out as a combination of a stern no and an permissive later, shaded with smoke.

"Okay, Spengs." Peter leaned in for a quick kiss. It took all his willpower to pull away. "I'll work something out." He swallowed at the burning look Egon gave him.

A Few Frenetic Days Later...

Peter stood before the door, gesturing to it with his hands like a gameshow host.

"It's a storage closet." Egon braced himself as the door was opened. He blinked when nothing crashed, fell or ejected.

"A cleaned storage closet." Peter pulled on the light cord, pressing his hand against his friend's back. He smiled as the now shaded bulb cast a warm glow. "Step into my parlor."

Egon looked at Peter skeptically as he walked in. Peter closed the door behind them. Egon looked down, arching his eyebrow at the lump at the very back of the closet.

"It's not the Ritz..." Peter was halted from saying more by the lips settling over his mouth. It was a lingering kiss that ended before it could rage.

"That's very effective." A trace of a smile wisped around the long face. Deft fingers pulled at Peter's t-shirt, Egon leaning in again.

Peter reached up to get a handhold as palms ran up his sides, pushing the shirt above them. He whimpered slightly as he was pressed away, moaning as the shirt was skinned off.

Egon loosely quartered the shirt and tossed it out of the way before drawing Peter close.

Peter scrambled from the embrace to fumble with buttons. Egon stilled his hands, undoing the last few buttons and disposing of his own shirt in much the same way as he had Peter's.

"Shoes." Peter kneeled to unfurl the bedroll, then untied his shoes, flinging them aside. He gasped as Egon reached over him barechested to set his shoes in the far corner with the shirts. Peter dropped back onto the cushion as he was weighed down.

Peter's head lolled as the lethal lips latched onto the soft skin behind his ear. He luxuriated in the pilgrimage being made from one side to the other. Peter's arms were weak when they knitted into the blond coif over his sternum, holding the head in place.

Egon looked up.

It took Peter's breath away. He smiled lopsidedly as he smoothed a hand down Egon's side. "Better let me do some of the work." He shifted until he was half beside and half above Egon, leaning down to kiss him. Peter's hands stroked and rubbed down the down the arms and torso. He pulled away to look at the firm flesh he was limning. Why the taut muscles came as a surprise he didn't know. He knew the physicist's strength. The understated swells were hard under the fine skin. The major groups were defined yet transitioned smoothly into their neighbors, like a finely carved slab.

Then the firm hands were rolling him back and the lips resumed their tour of Peter's chest. He hitched his hands over the slim back and held on. The back of his fist went to his mouth as Peter stifled his moan as long fingers undid his fly and skinned off his pants. Long bare legs tangled with Peter's, the hot mouth engulfing his cry at the sensations.

Peter gasped as the lips trailed down his chin, neck and sternum. He was stunned silent as the mouth closed over a nipple. He started making a faint gargling sound when Egon moved to the other nub. Nothing was supposed to be this good. This certainly wasn't, yet it was. Very, very good. Peter sprawled in a haze of pleasure as the mouth traversed down.

Awareness burst, Peter's eyes going wide and his jaw dropping. He looked down, brain completely burning out at the sight of Egon swallowing him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, hands clasped over the pale shoulders. He bobbed for an eternity-instant, utterly lost.

Peter blinked, noticing the hand over his mouth and the rather smug expression on the scientist's face, now beside him. He enmeshed his fingers with the longer ones, pulling the two hands down. A strange feeling teased at his attention. Sticky leg hair... He chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he rolled against Egon.

"Something wrong?" The arch improbability was laced with concern.

Peter laughed and kissed Egon just below the still in place blond coil. "How do you manage?" His fingers brushed along the roll. "I don't even want to think what mine looks like."

Egon's deep bass joined in, his fingers raking through the disheveled mop. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

They lay together awhile longer, smiling and holding. Peter finally broke the silence. "We're going to have to get out of here." Lingering a little longer, he then stretched for the pile of clothes.

Two Days Dawned...

"Morning, Egon." Janine smiled coquettishly at the physicist descending the stairs.

He faltered slightly, a barely discernible hitch in his steps. "Janine."

"Something wrong?" She looked the lanky man over assessingly.

"No." He walked over to the desk. "What is the day's schedule?"

Perceptively the red-head noted the nervousness and plowed on as if she hadn't. "Nothing until eleven, sounds pretty harmless. From there it's a full day until 5pm."

"Good." Egon left the room, slightly too quickly.

Janine knitted her eyebrows.

"I thought we only took appointments 'til five." Peter looked away as the trap opened, holding the beam steady until the whoosh-slurp gave the all clear.

Another trap went out as Ray blasted. "We were still on the three o'clock at five." The light pulled down the ghost.

"Can we save the chatter?" Winston was being rushed by two ghosts, unable to trap either without letting the other through. Traps shot into place, a second beam containing the other ghost. Light fanned out, throwing the Ghostbusters into darkness as the double doors shut.

"We can go now." Egon shipped the thrower as the P.K.E. meter registered only residuals.

"It's official. Even Spengs wants to go home. Ray, call Guinness." Peter spared a look at the physicist.

Ray and Winston laughed as they wearily scooped up traps and exited the building.

"Something's wrong." Peter peered at Egon as if he could scry it from the other man's face.

Egon neither confirmed nor denied the statement.

"Going to make me play twenty questions for it?"

"Janine flirted with me this morning."

"She flirts with you every morning. Not that you notice." Peter smiled.

"I am more than aware that she is flirting."

Peter scanned for a place to sit down. Finally he hopped up on the workbench. "Okay. So what was the problem this morning?" The words rattled out a bit fast.

"Peter." Egon put a hand down over the knee.

The psychologist swallowed. "Answer the question."

"You know why."

"Pretend I don't." It was said just a little too lightly.

"Things have changed. Not that she would know... I haven't been in a situation like this."

"We established that earlier." The tension in Peter's voice was slipping through. He couldn't compete with Janine. His hand sneaked towards the long fingers still on his leg.

"Being involved and someone else being interested."

Peter blinked. "You sure that's accurate?" There were always a few ladies--

"I'm of course discounting those 'from afar' instances."

Peter's jaw dropped. "You knew?!" Some of the girls had been gorgeous.

"I'm not autistic." Egon breathed to regain his composure. "Don't think this is different because of your sex. That's really inconsequential."

"You implying something?" The quip didn't clear the tower. He knew it and he knew Egon knew it. Worst yet, he knew Egon knew he knew Egon knew it. Peter shook his head to clear the train of thought. "So I do think it's important." Peter jumped down, missing the warmth of the hand he dislodged as he stood. "A little anxiety is normal. Healthy even."

Egon looked at Peter intently.

"The American Psychological Association removed it as a pathology in '75. '75." Peter looked around anxious and uncomfortable. "Guess I should have slept through more of my lectures." He chuckled without humor.

"I didn't--" Egon's concerned words were stopped by fingers against his lips.

Peter traced over them. "Don't." It was a whisper. He slid the fingers out of the way to replace them with his lips. The kiss was gentle and teasing. "Change is good. Growth..."

"Which of us are you trying to convince?" Egon introduced some space between them within the embrace.

"Spengs. It's just my id and subconscious having a tiff. Nothing more."

Egon gave Peter an appraising eye.

"You really knew about the groupies?"

Egon chuckled in shock. "Yes, Peter."

"You okay about Janine?" His hands idled over the lean back.

"I'll manage." The hug tightened as Egon rested his face against Peter's head.

"Still have a grudge against the couch?"

Egon arched a brow and met Peter's eyes.

"I'm getting a crick in my neck."

"Very well." Egon's mouth stayed serious, but a twinkle was in his eyes as they went to the sofa.

"That's better." Peter rolled his head to one side and then to the other. A soft moan escaped as strong fingers kneaded at the tense muscles. "So, if..." Peter rolled his hand in a non-verbal yadda-yadda. "is so inconsequential, why was your first reaction to grab a P.K.E. meter?"

"Simply the most sensible thing to do. You were behaving oddly, and possession is never an impossibility--"

"What's my degree in?" Peter stilled the fingers on his shoulders, rubbing the knuckles.

"Because that's the only thing that isn't important. We've been friends for too long for me to risk that out of hand."

"And if one of us was possessed?"

"I keep bio-rhythm readings on all of us."

"I thought I was the only one with fear-based responses in relationships." Peter held on as Egon tried to pull away. "I'll say it. I love you. Loved you before, too, though I'm not going to say whether it was the same. Don't really know." Pete scooted on the couch. "Now, I know you're opposed to this couch, and I'd like a little more room--"

"Meet me in ten minutes." Egon disentangled, his bass smoky.

Peter's eyes widened in shock. He nodded as Egon looked back from the door.

Peter slipped unobserved into the small storage room. His breath hitched as Egon smoothly stood.

"Peter..."

The sentence that might have followed was consumed by the thorough kiss lavished on the silenced lips. Four arms reached out for an embrace, pulling the two impossibly close.

"Fun as this is, you're going to get tired holding me up."

"Never." They lowered to the flipped open bedding.

Leisurely, Peter explored with mouth and hands, pushing at clothing, but making no definitive moves against it. He held still in shock as first the long hands stopped on his back and the object of his obsessions slipped easily away.

"I had to put my glasses out of the way." Egon tried to resolve Peter's expression. "You might see them, but I surely wouldn't."

"Right." The word was tinged with sullenness.

"Peter." Egon cupped one side of the blurry face. After a moment he pressed a long finger to the nose quickly. He smiled at the confused expression.

Peter smiled disbelievingly. "Spengs." He launched forward, pushing Egon back. This time Peter was more goal oriented, clothing rout by the renewed sortie. He chuckled at the undecipherable sounds that slipped softly from Egon, eliciting greater frequency of them.

"Damn." Peter slid down. "We take off our shoes first thing from now on." The footwear thumped lightly thrice plus one as it was pulled off and tossed aside. He unceremoniously shed his pants. When Peter looked up, Egon had done similarly. "Where were we?" Surging over Egon, Peter answered his own question, plundering any attempted verbal reply.

They seethed together, Egon meeting Peter. Hands groped and clutched, hips rocked while mouths made twin orbits that crashed together erratically. Roiling, they fused into a rhythm, a building wave, amplitude careening into a dysynchronous event.

Muzzily, Peter regained awareness and started to shift aside. Arms tightened, holding him still.

"I'm not going to shatter." Egon threaded long fingers into Peter's tousled mop. "At most, decompress slightly."

Peter murmured pleasurably at the scalp massage. It revved into a near purr as the other hand joined the first. Then, he started chuckling.

Egon looked at him oddly.

"If you could see your hair." Peter tried to calm down, his hands smoothing at the demolished coiffure. Finding a hairpin, he sat it carefully aside. Further digging produced another. "So," Peter giggled as he found a third. "How many of these does it take to hold that up?"

"Your scientific curiosity finds a peculiar time to evidence."

"Like it was a question I could ask..." Peter looked at the small pile of metal growing at the corner of the pallet. "No wonder it stays put. Good thing ghosts aren't magnetic."

Egon bit off the clarifying lecture on his tongue. "That's your job." His umbrage turned when he realized Peter was no longer mining. He smiled wide at the blurry finger presumably counting the pins. "You're fascinated by the strangest things."

"I am." Peter finger combed at the blond hair to see just how it was cut. He grinned as the different lengths slid through his fingers. "Whatever possessed you?" Peter pushed the long top section back. He stroked through the sides, lips meeting Egon's. It was gentle and slow, Peter pulling back to end the kiss. "Can you reconstruct it without a mirror?" He slipped to the bedroll end to find his clothes. Half dressed he stood and plucked the red framed glasses from the shelf.

Egon took the proffered spectacles, unfolded and pushed them into place. Hair loose he found his clothes as Peter finished dressing. Pulling on his boxers and pants, Egon then readied his shirt. "Yes?"

Peter schooled away the smile. "Nothing." He leaned down for a quick kiss, deeper than the last. Peter pulled his hand away and slipped out the door.

Egon buttoned his shirt and picked up the pile of hairpins.

Later On...

Ray looked at Peter, puzzled. As much as the psychologist liked catnaps during the day, it was unusual for him to turn in so early. In truth, Peter's reluctance to wake in the morning was more than matched by his late retiring. If that wasn't odd enough, Peter's hair was very clearly wet again. They and part of Chinatown would have heard if Slimer had smacked into him. Strange.

Business continued to pick up speed, as it seemed to do every autumn swing to winter. The cycle of sleep and work was broken with decreasing down time and increasingly the moments between Peter and Egon had a stolen air. It was understandable that Winston, when he woke in the night, thought there was pressing research keeping Egon up at all hours in the lab. And equally understandable that no one noticed his peering in at Peter sleeping.

Peter still couldn't believe what a fantastic kisser Egon was. Stopping his hand before it plunged into the blond coif, Peter instead slipped it between them. He smiled at the muffled noise responding to his chest stroking. "Overdressed." Peter rubbed a bare toe across Egon's instep.

Practice made quick work of the clothes, fingers knowing how to drift past each other and not tangle. The glasses were placed on the shelf before the two smoothly descended onto the makeshift mattress, Peter pressed flat. Egon balanced on one arm, dragging the other hand over the musculature different from his own. As much as Peter tried to personify lassitude, he actually worked hard to stay in shape.

Peter rolled to his side, cleaving along Egon. Hips rolling, he kissed up the long jaw. The slow seduction roiled, their shifting advantage pendulous. Finally, using surprise as much as anything else, he flipped Egon. He smiled as the blue eyes tried to focus, leaning in to savor the promising mouth. Peter pulled away with difficulty, compensated by the quivers as he kissed down the long neck.

Carefully Peter trailed the sternum, pushing Egon's shoulders down. He captured one nub between his lips, his fingers rolling the other in time. Peter switched his attentions, then slipped lower down the angular torso. Amused by Egon's sigh, he nipped over a rib and kissed it better. Arms stretched before him to still the wound coil beneath him, he sucked at the taut stomach.

Finally Peter looked at his ultimate target. Hesitantly. He turned his attention back to the hip undividedly. With a last kiss, he pulled away. Peter exhaled, licked his lips and stretched them over his teeth before going down. His tentative approach became more impassioned as the odd noises Egon was making registered. Peter pulled his hands down to control the narrow hips under his face. He sighed in relief when the strong hands latched onto his shoulders and not his head. Judging the reaction, Peter tried it again. The sudden clench of both and eventual release of one of the hands strongly suggested approval. Peter went into overdrive to blow Egon's mind.

And was entirely successful.

Egon at length levered his limp hands into Peter's hair. The normally strong fingers and palms cradled the dark head, pulling up ever so slightly. Peter stayed pillowed on the flat stomach. "You bleach your hair, Spengs." Peter pushed himself up, head settling on a shoulder. He smiled, hitching slightly in building mirth. Egon looked at Peter in puzzlement, which only set Peter off further.

"Sorry." Peter bent to kiss away the perturbed set of Egon's mouth. The thought that maybe he shouldn't occurred just as their lips touched. It was scattered by the impassioned possession capturing mouth and head, the long fingers refreshed and clutching Peter close.

Peter looked up, tilting his head to one side and then the other. "Having trouble seeing it." He kissed Egon slowly before continuing. "When did you start bleaching it?"

"I'm not sure I should indulge this new interest of yours." His hands stroked Peter's back.

Peter relaxed into the trailing fingers, rolling his eyes at Egon's comment. "Why then?"

Egon looked at Peter. "It began with a laboratory accident."

"This was your time at Clariol?" Peter smiled apologetically.

Egon held his tongue for a moment and then continued. "Gradually the color returned with the new growth. I preempted a full resumption."

Peter looked down the lean body towards the tuft of honey-blond hair and then up again to the light blond coiffure. "I'm going to have to see pictures."

Days Dash By...

"What the HELL were you thinking, Doctor Spengler?!" Peter slammed Ecto-1's door, rocking the whole hearse. "You were thinking? Tell me you were thinking!"

"I'm sure Egon--" Ray halted mid-defense as Peter flashed him a incinerating glance.

"I'll discuss this once you're calm. Not one whit sooner." Egon measuredly removed his pack from Ecto and returned it to its place. "Winston, you'll put the traps into containment? I'll be in the lab." He walked up the stairs.

Peter fumed. "Of all the insufferable-- He nearly gets himselfkilled and he thinks I'm overreacting!"

Ray and Winston exchanged an expression. Concern colored with confusion.

"Melnitz, where do you think you're going?"

The petite red-head stopped and turned where she stood on the staircase. "Where do you think, Doctor V?"

"Leave it alone. Just leave him alone." Peter's words were quiet and a plea.

Egon opened the lab door, closing and locking it behind him. He didn't get as far as the stool, sliding down the door itself to sit on the floor. Thinking was exactly what he had been doing, distracting the Class 6 from terminating Peter. Which Peter hadn't even seen coming. Now he just wanted an irreverent remark to demonstrate that everything was okay. Or something.

It was ridiculous, this desire for confirmation of the obvious. Just as the ache in his arms to hold Peter in the night was unreasonable.

Why wasn't Peter knocking on the door yet? Egon pulled his long legs close to his body and wrapped his arms around them.

Of all the idiotic things for Egon to do! Peter paced in the space that loosely defined his office. Right now he could really go for some walls. Heaven knew where Janine had gotten off to; maybe gave herself the rest of the day off with pay. All things considered, that would be the best.

"Of course I'm not calm." His voice almost belied the statement. He whacked half-heartedly at his desk chair. Taunting the ghosts was Peter's job, not Egon's. Egon's job was to be brilliant, not die. "Don't you dare."

Peter dropped into the leather chair, hands clutching the armrests. "Who'd keep me together?" It was a whisper that barely carried to his own ears. "Does anything touch you?!" Had there been walls the words would have reverberated. How could Egon expect him to be calm?

"What crawled up and bit him?" Janine looked over towards Peter's office. "Is Egon okay?" She looked at Winston and Ray.

"It was hairy, but nothing that hasn't gone down before." Winston didn't want to worry Janine any more than she obviously already was. Truth was, Peter's reaction concerned him more. Close calls were part of their job. They all understood that; Peter certainly did.

"It was almost like Egon pulled a Peter." Ray thought about the implications of the analogy. "You know how he hates his thunder stolen." Quickly he continued. "We were on the spectre before anything could happen. They're just shook up."

"You've been around Venkman too long. Give it to me straight." Janine planted herself in front of the occultist, arms across her chest.

"I'm not sure what is going on." The way he said it made clear he would find some answers.

Janine looked up the staircase. She turned back to Ray and Winston. "I'm going out for half an hour. I'll shuffle the rest of the appointments when I get back." She dashed to grab her coat and purse, and then slipped out the door.

Ray and Winston turned as Peter's voice lifted, spilling out from his office area. "Does anything touch you?!" They looked at each other and headed upstairs.

Winston was worried when neither Egon nor Peter had surfaced before Janine poked in upstairs to tell them about their early morning busts. It was unusual for them to be so stubborn at the same time. "No, stubborn in the same way." One in a funk had the equal and opposite reaction of the other dragging him out. Clearly Ray thought it was strange too. Winston set to the practical task of cooking a meal guaranteed to attract even the unmovable object. "Wonder who's turn it is?" He snorted lightly at the thought.

Ray puzzled at the permutations of his earlier analogy of Egon pulling a Peter. Peter had three primary motivations for seemingly foolhardy action: bait, deflection and stall. The first was out. They hadn't set a snare for the Class 6. Similarly, they weren't having equipment failure or waiting to regroup. That pretty much negated the third. They'd had things under control, hadn't they? "Egon saw something we didn't." Ray headed for the kitchen.

"Hey, that smells great." Ray peeked under one lid. "What's the occasion? Oh, I think I've figured it out. What could Egon have noticed that we didn't?"

Winston thought about it. "Sorry, even the 20/20 of hindsight--" His dark face stilled. "Peter usually..."

"Has the Spidey-sense." Ray pulled out a chair and dropped. "You don't think..."

"That Spengler was pulling his fat out of the fire?" Winston mulled his words. "Certainly fits."

Ray was quiet for a moment. He spoke just as Winston did. "Shit."

Egon and Peter pulled themselves from their respective lairs for dinner, though neither spoke to the other. Winston saw them glance at each other peripherally several times,as if they were making sure the other didn't need him. How'd they tell with their poker faces up, Winston didn't know. At least neither tried hurrying from the table.

Winston tried to get some reaction from them. "We're going to have an early morning tomorrow."

Ray looked at Egon and Peter, wishing one to budge the other. "Janine rescheduled the busts. Um, I'll get started on the dishes." He started to clear the table, Winston giving a hand.

"You're not going to do that again." Peter's words were balanced between question and command.

Egon met Peter's eyes. Finally he spoke. "Don't ask that." Egon stood slowly from the table and exited.

"Damn you." Peter punctuated it by slapping the table before leaving.

Peter barged into the lab. "Okay, here's your control. Now, what the hell was that about because I'm not losing you tomorrow." The door banged shut loudly behind Peter in the middle of his speech.

Egon looked at Peter, silent. "My control?"

Peter walked over. "What's going on? You know how I hate being left out of a secret."

"Nothing."

"Right. Good thing you're a horrible liar, or that would have hurt." Peter assessed the hint of shock. "Spill it, Spengs."

"If the situation were the same I'd do it again." Egon stared at Peter, willing him to drop the matter.

"How can I prevent the situation if I don't know what it is?! Do you have any idea what that was like before we got it in our beams?" Peter shook slightly with the memory, the horrible fear that they were too late.

"Yes." The answer was thick.

Words stuck in Peter's throat. Finally he managed, "You're saying--"

Egon wrapped Peter tightly in an embrace. "Didn't happen." His hand cupped the dark-haired skull, cradling it as they clutched each other.

Ray looked over, first at Peter and then at Egon. Even for the day they'd had, something didn't seem quite right as they slept. Exactly what he didn't know. Yet. He closed his eyes, sure that whatever it was would become apparent.

Had he'd stayed awake for only a half hour more, Ray would have seen Egon reach out, as if searching for something. Egon thrashing about in his sleep, however quietly, was unusual. Instead, Egon was unseen and uninterrupted. Unsuccessful in his search, he drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. Mollified, his slumber smoothed.

"Tell me this is the last one." The sizzle of another completed job hung in the air. Winston could barely keep track of how many busts they'd done. It had been a full schedule before the remaining busts of the preceding day were added. Ecto was filled with loaded traps.

Ray smiled and clapped a hand on Winston's shoulder. "Just Peter writing the bill."

Peter took his cue and pulled out the pad of receipts and started working up the charges as he exited.

Ray noticed the strange distracted, concentrated effect. "Wasn't today great!" His concern deepened when Peter made no cracks.

Winston laughed. "Don't change, Ray." He looked over at Peter and Egon. Something was still wrong.

The Next Night...

Peter poked his head into the lab. He started to enter when Egon turned from his work. The briefly unshuttered look threatened to melt him on the spot. Peter managed to cast out an invitation. Accepting the nod, he left to wait.

Egon wrapped up the current phase of research as expediently as possible. Done, he slipped from the lab and headed for the storage room. He casually opened the door and stepped inside, the door snicking shut.

Peter was standing barefoot, imperfectly nonchalant. His attitude was changed as Egon gathered him possessively. He quickly rallied, throwing himself into the bond. Frantically they searched each other for sites of conquest. Clothes were tossed aside and fell, Egon's shoes nearly torn off. Peter fell heavily to the mat, Egon propelling him. Campaign and counter-campaign waged fiercely.

Peter refocused, feeling Egon pulling away. Peter held Egon tightly until the tension spilled away. He wasn't prepared for the shudder. His hands smoothed soothingly over the lean frame. Egon wrapped his arms around Peter. "Spengs..." Peter stroked the nape of the long neck, pressing a kiss behind the ear.

Ray kept an observant eye out, uncertain of what exactly he was seeking. His conclusion was unexpected. At first, he hadn't thought too much about his unsuccessful searches for Peter or Egon. Until he realized that they were disappearing at the same time. Even then his first presumption was that they had a prank or pranks in the works.

Peter with a bundle of blankets that he actually took all the way to the washer and ran immediately punctured that theory. At least introduced an anomalous data point. That the folded blankets (an occurrence which almost struck Ray blind) were promptly marched upstairs and disappeared, encouraged further curiosity. A moving target, such as Peter or Egon, had many options for being unobserved in the firehouse. An object or objects at rest shouldn't be so difficult to locate.

That was how he'd started looking at the storage closet. After looking at all of the places that were likely, and then even unlikely for the blankets to have gone, he was left with the closet. Ray found it locked.

It was a conundrum that prompted further investigation. The 'evidence' was almost innocuous, until one figured in Egon and Peter's strange behavior. The conclusion he came to was unexpected to say the least.

"Winston, I think they're involved."

"Who are what?" Winston looked up from his book.

"Have you noticed anything odd about Egon or Peter?"

"That is a trick question." Winston smiled, and became more serious as he noted Ray's consternation. He slipped a bookmark in, setting the book aside. "You think they're still shook up about that bust?" Winston still didn't exactly understand that exchange. Peter acting like he had a monopoly on leaping into the breach.... Usually Egon deflated Peter's tirades faster.

"Do you? No, well, it started with that-- I guess it would sort of explain it."

"Lay it on me."

"I believe they are sleeping together."

Winston finally blinked. "That's a very dangerous practical joke with Janine around." Winston watched the confusion bloom on Ray's face. "That was the plan, getting me in on a joke on the guys?"

Ray's expression didn't change. "I wonder how long. Why wouldn't they tell us?"

Winston quickly realized how convinced Ray was. "Um, how did you deduce this? I don't want to know, do I?"

Ray was perplexed. "Should we let them know we know?"

"Do we know? Look, if we're wrong, Peter will never let us off the hook. If not, then they have a reason for not telling us. Right?"

"I guess..."

"Good." Winston resolved to put the question to rest.

A Few Days Later...

Okay, that was not the answer he expected. Hearing the unmistakable sounds... Winston meditated on the undercarriage of Ecto, as he fine-tuned the Detroit classic. He could decide that it was Egon and Janine in the closet. Except he saw her leave, and she was driving her Bug today. She barely liked parking it outside; no way would she move it further from the firehouse. Not to mention that he couldn't see Egon--

He not-thought that image away. It was disturbing enough for Ray to be right without putting pictures on the other side of that door. Question was, what were they going to do about it?

There were really only two options: ignore it or confront.

Another Night...

Peter cracked an eyelid, peering over to Egon asleep in his bed. If you could call the tossing to and fro sleep. Looked more like aerobics. Peter closed his eye as he heard the definitive creak. Clearly Egon agreed with his assessment and was getting up. Peter waited through the barely perceivable rustle before the slippered footfalls fell and receded.

Peter got up and followed. He halted at the door to the living room. In the still dim room, Egon's hair stood in high relief from the reflected light. Finally the framed eyes turned. Peter slipped into the room.

Egon's face was lined with worry. Peter sat. He almost started to talk several times before Egon finally did.

"The phase-variance modulation is causing me some consternation."

"Nice to know you've been paying attention. Always steal from the best." Peter looked at Egon. "What's really the problem?"

"The amplitude feedback fluctuates..."

Peter waited for Egon to give up the pretense. "How long has it been going on?"

"A few weeks. It's not that the cases have been taxing. Numerous, but not exceptional. Research is going smoothly, beyond the normal nuisances. Things are practically pacific."

"Something's making waves. Talk to me, Spengs. Janine hasn't been bugging you?"

Egon peered at Peter puzzled. "No." Egon pondered. "Should I have noticed something?"

"You have no idea what might be the problem?"

"Beyond a proximity impulse? That's hardly anything to lose sleep over."

Proximity... "Care to elaborate on this impulse?" Peter tried again. "When does this impulse manifest?"

"I hardly see the importance--"

"That's why you're the physicist and I'm the psychologist." Peter reined in his temper. "Impulses are my specialty."

Egon bit back a rejoinder. "Well, I only notice it at night. It's not dominant enough to interfere with other responsibilities."

"Just how proximal?" Peter reached out to Egon. "Doesn't the timing suggest something to you?"

Egon blinked. "Coinciding events of differing orders are not causal."

"Give it to me in English. What pent-up desires do you have rattling the wheel?"

Egon looked straight at Peter. "To sleep with you."

Peter tried to find the hidden complexity in the terse statement. "Try it one more time, slowly." Peter clutched a knee before Egon could rise from the couch. "Egon, I'm missing something here, aren't I?"

"It's not important." Egon tried to peel away the clasped hand. Instead it grasped his.

"Can't agree. That the only time you want to sleep with me?" Peter looked at the perplexed expression. Finally it hit him. "You mean you want to sleep with me."

Egon arched a brow.

Peter placed his fingers against the lips. "Spengs." What could he say? Wordlessly he pulled Egon tight to him. Resistance reluctantly relaxed. Holding the spare frame, Peter tried desperately to figure out how to set this straight.

Later That Week...

"Ray, you got a moment?" Winston had made a decision, and tonight he was going to take advantage of Peter and Egon's errands.

"Sure. What's up?" Ray regarded his friend seriously.

"You were right. I'm going to need your help." Winston walked away, heading for the bunkroom.

Ray followed. "Right?"

Winston didn't stop until he stood at the stripped four-poster. "They are involved. Help me move this."

Ray looked at Winston in confusion.

"Look, we don't have a lot of time. Let's get this moved into the guest room. Ray?"

"That's Peter's bed."

"Right, let's get it moved before Pete and Egon get back." Winston started the disassembly. As he expected, Ray pitched in quickly.

"What happened to letting them tell us?"

Winston exhaled. "We depend on each other. Secrets are corrosive. Do you really think they should have to sneak off to a storage closet?"

Ray's enthusiasm increased exponentially. Winston wished he could be so positive.

They'd hardly got the guest bed into the bunkroom when Egon returned. His trajectory was direct to the lab, oblivious to his colleagues' labors. By the time that Peter came in, Ray and Winston were comfortably in the living room.

Peter headed for the bunkroom, figuring that he'd think better alone. His eyes widened. "Where is my bed?" In the place of his four-poster was the twin from the guestroom. Complete with the tucked in plastic cover to minimize Slimer damage. Peter headed back downstairs.

"Okay. Which one of you hatched this?" Peter looked at his suspects.

"Hatched what?" Winston didn't even bother to look up from his book.

"Who's been stealing my bed?"

"We moved it." Ray looked over at Peter.

"You moved it. Where did you move it to? Why did you move it?"

Winston answered succinctly. "Peter. We know about you and Egon."

Peter blanched. "Know?"

"That's why we moved your bed. So you'd have a room." Ray smiled.

Peter tried to say something. "So I'd have a room... Know--"

"It's your home, too. So, now you have a room. Together." Winston hoped it was a wrap.

"Hey, we're good friends, but this is taking it to extremes..." Peter looked at Winston and Ray exchanging glances. "Very close friends." Peter shrugged. "Tell me I've not been obvious."

"Just like always. Took forever to piece it together."

Egon came downstairs, noticing the three conversing only after crossing to the shelf. Peter looked at him pleadingly, while Winston looked vaguely uncomfortable. Only Ray was his usual, cheerful, self. "Ray, something is up."

"It's great about you and Peter."

His finger tipped the book onto its spine. His slack face drained to almost match his hair. "Peter."

"It's not how I'd have chosen." Peter turned his head slightly, otherwise rigid. A brittle stance, almost expectant of another blow.

Ray looked at his friends, puzzled. They should be happier than this. Shouldn't they?

"What else could we do?" Winston looked at his friends. He headed off for the bunkroom.

Peter didn't even notice Ray leave. "We'll talk in our room." Peter reached out a hand for Egon's back, though it didn't quite land. Egon walked just a little ahead of him until they were upstairs. Peter headed for the former guestroom.

Inside was his bed alright, a stack of his linens in the middle and Egon's nightstand at the foot. "Which side you want?" Peter went to the opposite side of the bed as Egon started making it up, doing that half. Finished, Peter sat down. "Talk to me, big guy."

"I'll get our things." Egon slipped out the door. Evenly he walked to the bunkroom and stepped inside. Winston had already turned in, rolled facing the wall. Ray was still sitting up. He ignored the younger man as he gathered first one of his nightshirts and then a set of Peter's pajamas.

Peter looked up as the door opened again, watching as a set of his pajamas was placed beside him. "Spengs."

Egon threaded buttons from buttonholes. Peter turned, stripping out of his clothes and pulling on his pjs.

"Say something."

"Right." Egon picked up the nightstand and positioned it to the right side.

Peter shuttled over the bed to stand on the same side. "Are you okay with this?"

Egon pulled off his glasses, setting them on the stand. "Let's get some sleep." He flipped back the blankets, waiting.

"You going to leave your hair up?" Peter tic-cringed at the words. In all the years they'd been roommates Egon had done exactly that.

Egon sat down. "You do it."

It took Peter a moment to get the meaning of the words. He leaned over, trying to find the first pin to remove. They became progressively easier to locate, the hair spilling down. Peter swallowed. Not that it looked bad. Just... more... different. It was the only word he could come up with. It looked great. Egon looked great. "Wow."

Egon reached up for one of Peter's hands. A small smile budded, eyes searching the blurred face. "Come to bed."

Peter shook himself slightly. "Um, yeah." Peter knee-ed into the bed, rolling the rest of the way onto his side.

Egon swung his legs up and slid down before pulling the covers over. He stretched out a hand to catch the switch beside the bed. He rolled onto his left side, his right arm finding Peter.

Peter turned into the embrace, hooking his arm over. "Comfy?"

Egon shifted closer, brushing a kiss against Peter's neck. "Yes."

A grin spread across his face. Me, too, Spengs.


	2. Handful of Thorns

Peter smiled at the wonderful sensations along his nape and jaw, his hip and thigh, wrapped around him. He turned into the mouth by his face, digging his hands into the long hair falling around him. He moaned pleasurably as the weight of his bedmate settled, pressing him into the mattress. Peter's eyes opened.

He quickly took in the face above his and what little he could see past the light blond hair. The one hand slipped to the back of Egon's neck, thumb dragging over the jaw's invisible stubble, while the other slid down Egon's side. Peter's lids shut as he arched up at the insistent loving.

Mouths drifted as Peter held on. His hands dragged over the long back, confused by the cloth under them. Latching first one and then the other into Egon's hair, Peter sealed their lips back together. They quaked together and then stilled. It took Peter a moment to understand what he was seeing; the posts of his bed, and the former guestroom beyond them.

"Morning." He looked for the clock beside his bed, belatedly realizing that it hadn't been moved. However, the still dark window behind the curtains told him it was much too early.

"Spengs." Peter held on, preventing the taller man from rolling away. "You know how I like my beauty sleep. Though, I'll grant this is much better than your other wake-up calls." Nightshirt. What was under his hands was Egon's nightshirt.

Peter noticed that his own pajama bottoms were only half pushed down, the elastic somewhere above his knees. He let Egon slide off. Kicking the bottoms free, Peter finished unbuttoning the top.

"What are you planning?"

"Going back to sleep." Peter wiped himself off with the balled-up top and then did the same for Egon. He tossed it over the side of the bed. "Take this off." He plucked at the nightshirt.

Egon pulled the nightshirt over his head, loosely folded and tucked it under his pillow. He was still regarding Peter's eye-rolling expression when the stubbled cheek landed on his chest. He rubbed a fingertip across it.

"You know yours is dangerous? You can't see it, but it's sharp like a copper brush." Peter found himself on his back, being face rasped. "OH!" When he noticed Egon had retreated, he pulled the head down to the other side. "That... was a... goood sound."

"I thought you were going back to sleep?"

"Did I say right away?" Peter rolled them, kissing Egon hard, blond hair spread over the pillow. He pulled away before latching onto the skin beyond the stubble. His left hand moved down to tease over Egon's chest.

They rolled repeatedly, dueling to reach favored bits of flesh. Peter flipped Egon onto him, toying with the dangling hair while smiling wide. "Good morning." The smile turned into a yawn. "Naptime."

Egon rolled his eyes as Peter drifted off. He slept too.

Egon woke up, looked at Peter and decided he might as well get his shower before trying to shift the psychologist. He swung his legs out from under the blankets and slipped on his nightshirt, put on his glasses and stood, picking up the hairpins before heading for the bathroom.

Finished, he went into the bunkroom to gather his clothes.

"Morning, Egon." Ray swung out of bed.

"Morning, Ray." Task accomplished, Egon returned to the small room. Getting dressed, he looked down at Peter now sprawled as usual. Except for the bare arms reaching from under the covers. Egon surveyed the situation from several angles, judged, and then snapped the blankets down.

"Egon!" Peter scrunched up against the chill air on his naked flesh. He rooted around for the previously shed bottoms. "Couldn't you for once let me sleep in?" He pulled on the pajama pants, looking around for the shirt. His eyes fell on the soiled lump.

"There are things to do. Of which your shower is not the least."

"You're cranky in the morning. You do know that?" Peter jumped out of bed, jolted by the cold floor under his bare feet. He peered down to the absent slippers, then headed for and through the door, glowering.

Egon smiled before leaving the room himself.

Showered and shaved and rather hungry, Peter headed for the bunkroom, started to turn for the ex-guestroom and then resumed his original course. Quickly he plucked clothes from the various stockpiles and started getting dressed.

Winston came in laden with stacks of folded laundry. He set the basket down, pulled off two short stacks and placed them on Ray's bunk. Only then did he notice Peter.

Peter hurriedly pulled on his t-shirt. "Um, still need to move my clothes." He scooped out a mass from the closet floor, and precariously balanced several things from his drawers on top before leaving with his burden.

Winston looked out the door watching Peter go and then sat down heavily, toppling the laundry. Just how did you get things back to normal around this?

Ray regarded the other three men trying to go through the motions of a typical weekend. Well, two were trying; Egon was in usual swing, if that included moving his things into the guestroom. Which was exactly what Egon made it look like. Peter and Winston on the other hand were missing by a mile. He wasn't sure which was the more disturbing. The whole attempt to pretend everything was normal when clearly, from Peter and Winston's discomfort, it wasn't, was finally too much. Ray excused himself and headed to the comic store.

Winston tried. Knowing they knew he knew proved more disturbing than him just knowing. He'd made the right decision, the only decision he could have made in the circumstances. The circumstances, however, were difficult to accept. After a day and afternoon of trying to act natural about something anything but, he finally decided to visit with his family.

Egon looked at the closet floor. The few square inches of it not buried by the pile of Peter's clothes. He turned and saw Peter with a mishmash armful entering the room. "Peter, close the door."

Peter dropped the mound on the bed, startled. "Spengs."

Egon stepped over and pushed the door closed with a long arm. "Peter, I can't share a closet with you." He pointed at the nest at the bottom, below his neatly hanging shirts.

"Looks fine to me. Different areas--"

"That is not acceptable."

"Spengs." Peter judged Egon's mood, surprised. "I've always done that."

"Isn't it time to stop?"

Egon woke early. He lay there for a moment letting the particulars envelop him. His mind broke in with his task that day. Telling Janine. Carefully he unwrapped himself from Peter and slid out of bed quietly. He showered and got dressed, going over in his head what he was going to say one more time.

His descent to the first floor was timed with Janine's arrival. "Janine, I would like to speak with you for a moment."

Janine turned from hanging her coat. "Sure, Egon." Smiling, she walked over to stand next to him, looking up.

"Um, in the office." He directed her into the nominally private confines of Peter's unwalled area. He showed her a chair and stood, finally perching on the desk. He sat there, the seconds ticking off.

Janine noticed the small nervous tells that passed for Egon fidgeting. He was clearly anxious about something and it could only be personal. "Maybe you should just say whatever is on your mind." Janine smiled encouragingly. Was he finally going to make a move?

"Right. I wanted to let you know things have changed. I-- I'm seeing Peter."

Janine waited a moment for Egon to finish. "Professionally? I mean Peter's other profession?" This conversation was taking a strange turn.

"No. I mean we, Peter and I, are seeing each other personally, in a romantic sense." It hadn't occurred that he'd have to clarify his first statement.

Janine laughed. Egon had such an absurd sense of humor; it was adorable. She stopped smiling when she noted the concerned expression. He was supposed to say that she'd surmised correctly. "You're joking." Her voice was laden with a barely held panic. "You are joking, right?"

"No. I just wanted to let you know where things stood." Egon matched his actions to words and stepped away from the desk.

"You and Peter? You expect me to believe that? Egon, what's really going on? Is there something wrong you don't want to tell me?" What could be happening that he thought this lie would be kinder? This had to be a lie.

"There is nothing wrong. Peter and I have simply found a new level to our relationship." Egon held his expression, figuring revealing his happiness wasn't appropriate under the circumstances.

Janine leaped out of her chair. "New level?! Are you two doing the horizontal mambo? Is that what you are trying to tell me?" What the hell had been going on in the firehouse?

"If you wish to be so crude. Janine..." Egon realized there were no words. She would get over it. He'd have to allow her time. Standing back while she was obviously upset was difficult.

"Crude!? You think that's crude?!" Her expression twisted as she stoppered her tirade. "What did the guys think? Or am I the only one that thinks something weird is going on?" Maybe voodoo.

"I expected you would have a strong reaction, since it affects you more." Honestly, he hadn't expected this much of a response.

"And they didn't?!" Something this out of the blue? "They knew before me! I can't believe you. How long has this been going on?" How blind could she be?

"Not quite two months. Janine, I'm not going to discuss this in detail. Peter and I are together." Two months. "I guess the best man won." Janine stalked to her desk and sat, pulling sharply at her supplies.

Egon swallowed and straightened his shoulders before heading to the lab. That was out of the way, at least.

Janine couldn't get her mind around it. She'd have noticed this. Two months. Hadn't Peter been encouraging her not that long ago? This couldn't be real. She'd once sort of worried... Peter. Of all the people, Egon was with Peter. Always hesitant with her and instead he ran into Peter's arms. Her thoughts roiled.

Winston walked down the stairs, spotting the red-haired secretary. "Good morning, Janine."

"For you. You four been laughing it up at my expense? I can't believe you!"

Winston stopped balanced on one tread. He didn't even hear the words that further sliced from Janine's mouth. He had no words of comfort; this seriously weirded him out too. He should have known this was coming. Realizing that Janine had ceased her volley, Winston quickly made his way to Ecto.

The firehouse alarm woke Peter. Muzzily he stumbled out of bed in search of his clothes. He just stopped himself from running into the wall; his body on autopilot still was heading for the bunkroom closet. Scrounging up clothes he dressed frantically and ran downstairs for the kitchen.

Grabbing a piece of toast, he ran for the firepole and popping the toast in his mouth, slid downstairs. The rest of the guys were sitting in Ecto, his empty jumpsuit on the seat obvious through the still open door.

Janine stared at Peter as he touched ground. "Half of Manhattan wasn't enough?"

Janine stood looking down at him though her gaze was up. The toast dipped. Peter's face went slack as he halted before sprinting for the car. He yanked the door shut and the car lumbered out onto the street.

Peter zipped up his uniform not a block from their first job of the day. Winston checked the rearview mirror, noting the distant look on Peter's face. The day was just going to be a joy.

Winston pulled into park. "Peter, you go with Ray. Egon, you're with me." Winston got out of Ecto-1 and headed for the back, followed by the others. Winston, Egon, Ray, and finally Peter gathered up packs and traps. It just wasn't like Peter to be last. Not without a joke to go with it.

Winston let Egon take point with the PKE meter, unshipping his thrower as they entered the boarded-up brownstone. He didn't like how vague the client had been in describing the problem.

Ray glanced over at Peter while they hunted for the apparition. He was tensed, all a jangle and completely unlike himself. Peter almost looked like those first early days. "Let's head this way."

Winston looked over his shoulder and then put on a little more speed. How did Peter do this more than once a day? Winston's eyes went big at the steep flight of stairs ahead of him, and turned his head back. The ghost was right behind him.

Winston slid down the bannister to the factory floor. Doing a running dismount, he dropped and skidded out of the way as three beams hit the spectre.

"How about we trap this thing?" Peter threw the words back, keeping his eyes as firm on the ghost as his beam. A fourth stream lashed out and a trap was thrown. The manifestation fought but was sucked down.

Winston looked at Peter oddly as he was given a hand up without a word.

"That was cool!" Ray absently gave Winston the five Peter normally would have bestowed.

Ecto-1 pulled into the firehouse, the safety light giving a faint glow once the headlights dimmed. The four men piled out of the car, Winston snapping on the forefloor lights, leaving the office area dark. Peter helped Ray gather used traps from the back and pull out the packs, while Winston hefted two of the packs and walked them over to recharging. Egon reached out a hand to Peter as Ray headed downstairs with an armload of traps.

Peter looked back briefly before grabbing his pack and heading for the charger. Egon followed suit, holding his questions for the moment.

Traps emptied, packs recycling and showers had, the four passed around the white takeout boxes, scooping out their preferences.

Winston looked over at Peter. He paused before finding something to say. "Are they going to take that display of chattering teeth out of our fee?"

"Hey, it could have happened to any one of us. No, I convinced them that they'd been thrown. Self-defense." Peter dug into his food.

"Should have put you up against the peanut brickle cans."

Egon snickered at Ray's comment. Not that it had been funny in the least as the lids started popping off. Peter versus the springloaded snakes however...

Peter shot a long-suffering look. "We ever get called to a glass eye factory, you're taking point. Ray, do I want to know what is in those boxes you came home with Sunday?"

"It was a great swap meet." Ray enthused over the great things he'd seen, and more over how he'd traded up for the stuff he'd brought back.

Winston shook his head. "I guess it's true. One man's garbage is another man's treasure." Winston carefully peeked over at Peter. That he hadn't even looked for an opening in the monologue worried him.

"You know, we got really lucky with that bust at the garment district warehouse." Ray lifted a big bite with his chopsticks.

Winston smiled slightly. "What, that we didn't get that spectre at a laundry?" He had to admit it had been pretty ridiculous being pelted with panties, even after the ghost started snap launching them.

"It could have been bras."

Peter winced and started rubbing his shoulder. Winston noted Ray waiting for Egon to speak. "There a tale here?"

Peter interrupted. "Just an old campaign wound from my frat days."

Ray chuckled. "One of the co-eds beat him down the hall with a brassiere."

Winston laughed. "War of the sexes got a little literal?"

Egon finally joined in. "Live by the sword, smote by the sword."

"Very funny. Do you happen to recall how much metal used to be in them? The airport guys must have had fun."

The pause after Peter's words stretched into a chasm. Finally Winston rushed in to close the gap. "We really should find time to do a thorough stripdown of the traps." The conversation ran in that vein for the rest of the meal.

Peter excused himself and left the kitchen. Egon sat for a moment as Ray and Winston started clearing the table before following. Ray looked up, box still held above the trashcan in his other hand.

"Any idea what's wrong with Peter?"

Winston looked over. "I've been asking myself that."

Egon entered their bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He regarded Peter sitting on the left edge, a set of pajamas to one side.

"Don't know about you, but today was long. Think I'll turn in early." Peter started to strip off his shirt.

"Not before we talk." Egon watched Peter halt. "I'd have thought by now you'd have calmed down."

Peter turned around at the non-sequitur.

"You are still pouting about Winston disclosing his awareness of our relationship."

"I do not pout. It took you by surprise too."

"Be that as it may, you have been behaving most strangely today." Egon peered at Peter. "You'd save time if you'd just share what is troubling you."

Peter turned away and pulled off his shirt, slipping on his pajama top. Standing, he finished getting changed for bed.

Egon pursed his mouth and glanced perturbedly at Peter slipping into bed. Finally, he pulled out his nightshirt and started undressing. Pushing his arms into the sleeves, he finally spoke. "I told Janine this morning. She was surprised of course, but I think overall it went well."

"According to what index?!" Peter looked at Egon like he was out of his mind.

Egon raised an eyebrow at the outburst.

Peter couldn't find words to express himself for a moment. "What the hell were you thinking? Why didn't you warn me?" Peter jumped out of bed, jamming his feet into slippers. He started for the door and then turned, pacing agitatedly.

"Did she say something?" Egon tensed with foreboding.

"'Half of Manhattan wasn't enough?'" The words were shot out coldly. "Yeah, you could call that something. Great way to wake up. Better than coffee." Peter plunked back onto the bed. He turned to face Egon. The fear was written in his eyes.

It was with great effort that Egon masked his anger, and instead reached for Peter. At first Peter shrugged away from him, finally landing against the lean chest and holding on tight. Wrapping his left arm around Peter, Egon lifted the blankets first for Peter's and then his own legs. Sliding down, he clasped his long fingered right hand over the nape and occiput.

Meanwhile...

Ray and Winston had discussed and discarded multiple options for what was bugging Peter. That sat at an impasse. "Oh, Egon broke the news to Janine."

It took Ray a moment to catch the turn. He frowned, finally thinking how this would affect their secretary. "We should do something nice for her."

Winston shook his head. "Not now. Last thing she's going to want is sympathy."

Ray thought back to the morning. "Think she might have said something to Peter?"

It was Winston's turn to follow the conversation. "Was she anywhere near him?" He could read the answer on Ray's face.

The two men shook their heads.

Egon woke, Peter still draped warmly over him. A smile flirted over his lips. He could easily study this phenomena for extensive periods. He peered at his sleeping armful, very content. The smile disappeared as he recalled why he was wearing Peter. Egon considered carefully how to extricate himself without waking the psychologist.

He gently slid from under Peter, hand on his back until clearing the bed. He looked down for a moment, watching Peter clutch at the empty space in the bed and then finally pull at the vacated pillow. Something in him twisted as he stayed from slipping back into bed. Egon was not happy as he left the room.

Janine entered the firehouse through the small door to find Egon sitting at her desk. Her step hitched before striding the rest of the way. She hung up her coat resolutely. She opened the desk drawer and stowed her purse.

Egon turned his head. "It was completely uncalled for."

Confusion turned into confrontation. "What?" She stood with her shoulders back and arms slightly akimbo. "What you said to Peter. It was completely unnecessary." Egon bit out the words with all the control he could muster. His fuming bled through regardless.

Janine looked at him uncomprehendingly for a minute. "What I said to Peter?! How about you suddenly sleeping with him!?"

"That has nothing to do with you."

Janine was utterly stunned. "Nothing? You broadside me with this and just expect me to accept it? I've got feelings even if you don't!"

Egon exhaled. "Janine, while I'm flattered to an extent, I am with Peter."

"Flattered?! You pick a fine time to say something! Why did you wait so long?" She tried to think; this was too much first thing after the subway. "Why now? No. Why did you end up in Peter's arms?"

"It's not up for debate. Any problems you have with this, tell me and leave Peter alone."

"Peter?! You certainly didn't think to spare my feelings. Just who are you to dictate my emotions?"

"Your emotions are your own affair. Peter's are mine."

The slap impacted with his jaw with a retort. Janine was easily as surprised as Egon.

"You have the day off. Paid."

Janine blinked and swallowed. Reversing her movements, she retrieved her purse and pushed in the drawer, grabbed her coat slipping into the sleeves, and walked to the door. She paused briefly, not quite looking back before stepping outside.

Egon gingerly touched the side of his face.

Peter snuggled in tighter as he stirred, nuzzling into the pillow under his face. Opening his eyes he looked at the soft armful. "I could have sworn I had a physicist when I went to sleep." He looked disbelievingly at the clock and fell onto his back. He tried drifting off, giving up in a few minutes. Peter slung the pillow at the headboard as he crawled out of bed.

He managed to catch Ray and Winston still at breakfast after his shower. "Either of you seen Egon?" Hearing himself, he wished he could recall the words.

Winston halted mid-chew. His grip tightened on the fork.

The smile to match the twinkle in his eye swam around Ray's face. "I think he's in the lab." The red-headed ghostbuster turned slightly to Winston. "Must have designed a new alarm."

Winston grinned, lowering his fork. He smiled wider while shaking his head. Only Ray.... "By the way, Peter, you get to do all the bait-playing today."

The non-emergency bell went off, pulling the four together. Egon avoided eye contact and Peter didn't try drawing it. Breaking the slight pause, Ray took the firepole while the others double-timed down the stairs.

Ray stopped a moment at the empty desk in route to Ecto. The day's orders were scooped up as he looked at the pushed in chair.

"She's taking a day off." Egon answered before setting to loading for the day's busts.

Winston filed the fact away without remark. The reardoor closed, he maneuvered Ecto out the large doors and onto the street.

It was late when the former ambulance again pulled into the firehouse and disgorged the worse for wear Ghostbusters. Peter was wearing no fewer than five colors of ectoplasmic residue. Ray bore distinct scorch and soot marks.

"I'm taking first shower." Winston was covered with flocking, his mouth and eyes dark exceptions in his face. He grabbed the bags of drive-thru detritus and headed to the stairs, leaving a white trail as flocking fell from his uniform. He tossed the garbage into the waste can by the desk.

Ray hefted his pack from the back of Ecto and set it into the charger before returning for another. Peter waved Ray upstairs as he noticed the extensive damage to the occultist's jumpsuit.

Egon leaned in to finish unloading. His muscles resisted the motion, stiff from sitting after being flung about.

"Egon, leave the packs." He could see the strained twitches in the long back. Peter dusted at the glittered shoulders. He had no doubts that the landings had been anything but soft. "You sure you're okay?"

"I've been better. And... I've been more battered. The traps need to be emptied." He fished them out.

Peter bit the inside of his mouth as Egon entered their room, glitter still clinging to the wet and recoiffed blond hair. He sat up sharply, a touch too sharply, as he noticed the excessive care Egon was taking with his steps.

"Hurting yourself is no help to me." Egon eased down onto the bed, lifting his legs up. "Nothing a night of warm compression won't help." He pulled a puzzled Peter into place. Long fingered hands slid over Peter, searching out any sore spots and knots.

"Writing checks my body can't cash?" Peter gently kneaded at Egon, mindful of the bruises sure to be under the nightshirt. He nuzzled along the damp neck and near ear.

Egon shifted them to better get at Peter's mouth and neck. His right hand slid down. He smiled at the moan he silenced. He pulled back slightly from the kiss. "I think there are sufficient funds."

Peter looked at Egon in disbelief. Then a naughty smile bloomed. "Two can play that game." He frowned at Egon's mirthful pursed lips, rolling his eyes in warning. Fabric rustled. "If your nightshirt wasn't so long."

Egon moved slightly, allowing Peter to hitch up the previously pinned garment. He gasped as the hand closed.

"Remember where we were?" Peter nipped at the prominent chin. He pulled at the glasses' bridge with his right, stretching to get them on the nightstand with a minimum of clatter.

Egon leaned over Peter, rubbing their faces together. "Transaction."

Later... Early morning.

"Winston." Ray looked over across the dark bunkroom. "Winston."

"Yes, Ray?" The forbearing voice answered.

Ray's voice was mildly apologetic, "Why isn't this with Egon and Peter making people happier? I mean, I understand Janine being upset..."

Winston rolled over. "Why should it?" It wasn't really said as a question.

Ray blinked. "They're together."

Winston sighed for strength at the simple earnestness of Ray. "Isn't that enough?"

Ray was shocked by his friend's tone. "They're our friends!"

"And that makes it okay? Look, I don't like it. And I don't have to." Winston chose his next words carefully. "I can keep the distinction between the sinner and the sin."

Ray turned on the lamp and sat up. His normally boyish features were stern. Winston shielded his eyes.

"And you decided to move Peter's bed why?"

Winston reined together his thoughts. "What choice did they leave? You think this should be making people happy, then why weren't they upfront? Think about that, Ray." Winston sat for a moment and then slid out of bed into slippers and his robe.

Ray was left to his own thoughts.

Peter smiled against the firm chest he was draped over. Regardless of the time, it was good to wake to. For a few minutes Peter peacefully listened to Egon breathe. Then he opened his eyes with an appraising gleam.

The first teasing touch was a tentative finger trailed along the shoulder seam of the nightshirt. Two, then three traced along the lean side just firmly enough not to tickle. The hand cupped over the cloth covered hipbone, thumb teasing a circle. Egon shifted slightly under the touch, still sleeping.

Peter's palm slid upwards, stroking Egon's chest. Fingers fanned, skimming the understated right pectoral. Finally, fingertips lightly brushed the nipple. Egon jerked.

Peter taunted the peak, nuzzling into the other side. His fingers danced over the trembling torso. He was startled as a strong arm clamped over him, pulling Peter length to length.

Egon's expression was very intent as one long hand slid into the back of Peter's pajama bottoms, stroking the bare thigh. He smiled as Peter squirmed, shoving the other hand up the pajama top.

Peter bore down, heedless of the separating fabric while calloused fingertips rasped sensitive flesh. Stretching up, he sealed his lips forcefully to Egon's.

Egon's fingers tensed before surging into the kiss, hand quickly abandoning Peter's back to first relocate the psychologist's right hand and press his head to the right.

Peter slowly pulled back as the kiss broke, peering at the left side of Egon's face. "Egon, turn on the light." Blinking at the brightness, Peter gaped at the dark mark along Egon's jaw. "Spengs, why didn't you mention this?"

"It's nothing." His hands returned to their persuasion, drifting two trails along Peter's back and thighs.

Peter tried to ignore the nonverbal argument and probed the edge of the bruise. Eight fingers gave their involuntary verdict. "Nothing?"

"This is not the time or the place." Egon endeavored to remind Peter of the activity in progress.

Peter looked at the wound with increasing suspicion. "Goopers didn't do this."

"No." Egon escalated his entreaty, kissing away any further questions. The gambit was spoiled by Peter's hand sliding over the stain-spread jaw. Peter pulled away to one side.

"If not on the job, then how?" Peter fended off the distracting hands, catching Egon's right in his left.

Egon looked at Peter in frustration. "Janine slapped me." He maneuvered closer to Peter, trying to regain lost ground.

"She what?!" Peter sat up.

Egon rolled onto his back, resigned. He gathered his thoughts. "I'd underestimated her response. Things are clear now."

"Clear?! Janine-- why the... Spengs. I'm-- I can't believe..." Peter spluttered on, even less intelligibly, only his anger decipherable.

Egon started to speak, only to be interrupted by the fire bell. "Load my equipment. I've got a quick shower to take."

Ray held the ghost in the proton beam and threw out a trap. He looked over to the other guys as the light fanned out. Egon had been acting weird during the first bust, but whatever had been bothering him showed no signs of returning. Ray picked his next ghost and repeated his actions. He laughed as Peter called out, "Don't worry signing the registry", before trapping yet another of the ghosts. It was nice having Peter back.

Winston was another story. He hadn't said anything beyond the strictly necessary all day. Ray just didn't understand why this should affect them so.

"The ghosts are abandoning." Egon looked at the calming PKE meter, stepping to one side to avoid the splat of ectoplasm falling from the skylight above.

Peter looked down at his lower legs and boots. "Thanks, Egon."

Winston silently headed for Ecto after checking that the area really was secured. Ray followed, too concerned to comment on the finished job.

Ecto pulled into the firehouse in the failing light of afternoon. As it came to a stop, one door opened, disgorging a long and thoroughly slimed leg. The rest of Egon unfolded, revealing a head to foot ectoplasmically glazed physicist. Without a word he headed towards the stairs.

Janine looked up as Egon approached. She reined in her automatic impulse to fuss over him, then noticed the angry rebuke staining his left jaw. She looked back down at her work as he mounted the treads and disappeared, leaving behind a distinct squelching sound.

The other three got out and started unloading. The packs recharging and just a few trips of traps left, Peter waved Winston and Ray off. Ray looked at the psychologist warily and then at Winston, perplexed that he didn't react more than head away.

"Go on." Peter brushed his hands in a shooing motion, giving an indulgent smile. As soon as Ray was out of the way, Peter's eyes went glinty before heading downstairs with a load of traps. Peter came back up from the basement and stealthfully made his way to beside Janine's desk.

"Did that make you feel good?!"

Janine looked up.

"What the hell were you thinking, slapping him?!"

"Slapping him? How about you 'He's just shy, let him get used to you.'? How'd you get him used to you?!" Janine gave Peter a prurient look.

"So he's not shy. When he wants somebody."

Ray hurried from the small workshop at the raised voices, in complete disbelief. He tried to intervene.

Janine sneered at the cut-down, ignoring the occultist. "Or something."

From there the invective got really heated, volleys of personal attacks and barely tangential incidents thought forgotten. As the logic became more tenuous, their volume increased. Winston came running down the stairs.

"Were you feeling guilty having him on the side? Did you think I'd go along with it?!"

Peter gaped for a moment, before launching in with his own savage comments.

Winston looked at Ray, completely at a loss of how to end this.

"You're fired!"

"You can't fire me! I quit!" The fight coursed on ever more fiercely.

"What is going on down here?" Egon stood imperious, hair wet and hanging down onto his unbuttoned shirt. It got everyone's attention.

"Peter." Egon said the name like a command, turning and climbing the stairs barefoot. Peter shot a last withering glance at Janine before following.

Egon escorted Peter to the lab, shutting the door on him before Peter could protest. When Egon stepped into the lab, his shirt was buttoned and tucked in properly and his hair up as it belonged. "I expected better, Peter."

Peter looked apoplectic. "She hit you!"

"And I said that things were settled."

Peter punctured the patronizing posture. "You thought the same thing after you told her."

Egon deflated. "Did she start it?"

"When she did that." Peter pointed at Egon's jaw. He halted the attempted rebuttal. "That's starting something in my book."

"Peter." Resigned, Egon realized a certain humor in the situation. "I'm touched at you defending my honor. Touched as you are for picking a fight with Janine." Egon overlooked Peter's snort. "You are, however, going to have to apologize."

Peter went wide-eyed. "You've got to be kidding! After everything she's done?"

"Though felicitous, it would be would be fallacious to expect her to be calmer. I myself made this erroneous assumption." He frowned.

Peter wasn't mollified. "Like you asked for that?"

"Please, Peter." Egon surveyed his words, and found them lacking for the application. He closed the space between them, stroking just the tips of his fingers over the dark hair.

"Spengs." Peter had looped an arm around Egon to pull him into a hug.

"Apparently I did, when I rebuked her for that comment to you."

"You..."

Egon quirked an eyebrow at the halt.

Peter had the good grace to look sheepish. "Great minds think alike?

Egon gave him a sideways glance. "She interpreted it as me dictating her emotions. My next move was poorly chosen."

Peter could just imagine. "You know, I don't need any help making an ass out of myself." Peter stared down the incipient comment on Egon's lips. "So--, just how did you tell Janine we were together?"

"I simply let her know we were seeing each other."

"Did you just blurt that out?" It was all falling into place, giving Peter a sinking sensation.

"The meaning seemed self-evident. I did have to clarify that I meant romantically."

Peter knocked his forehead repeatedly against Egon's solid shoulder. Egon looked down perplexed. Peter looked up, shaking his head.

"I'm not the only one that needs to apologize to Janine."

Janine glared as Egon and Peter headed upstairs, then roughly pulled open the desk drawer that held her purse.

"Janine."

She turned on the red-haired Ghostbuster. "Don't Janine me. I can't believe any of this. I can't believe that," she pointed at the stairs, "and I can't believe you. Laughing it up while I'm oblivious to what happens here after dark. I thought you were my friends!"

Ray gently moved the tissue box towards her. Winston stood still for a moment longer and then headed upstairs. Janine was oblivious to the overture.

"What the hell does he see in Peter? Man changes girlfriends more often than socks! Can't even ask me out and he goes tumbling when Peter runs out of flavor of the week."

"Does that really sound like either of them?" Ray waited for some sort of response, getting only silence. "Or does it just make it easier to be angry?"

"I shouldn't have been the last to know. Damn it." She plucked one of the tissues out, dabbing at the eyeliner that was starting to escape. "Peter. Why the hell Peter?" She looked around, her anger no longer sufficient focus.

Ray lifted the box to her. "Would this really be easier if it wasn't Peter?"

Janine started to speak, closing her mouth without a word. She repeated the process a second, and then a third time. "Okay, probably not. I still should have been told."

Ray mulled for a moment. "They didn't tell us."

Janine looked at Ray confused.

"We told them."

"You what?"

"We let them know we knew." Ray held his ground waiting for the possible fury. The silence worried him more. "I don't know why it worked out that way. All I know is that Peter was taken aback, and Winston's not handling it that well either."

"You should have told me." She threw the smeared tissues at the desk top.

Ray looked at Janine contrite. "You know we couldn't." Grudgingly, she nodded. "You okay?"

"I'm still angry." Janine mused for a moment. "Thanks, Ray."

"We'll see you tomorrow?" Ray put his hand up. "Peter wasn't speaking for the rest of us. Do you really want to quit?"

Janine shook her head. She smiled back at Ray, before opening her purse for her compact. Assessing the damage, she started repairs. "I can take care of myself."

Ray nodded and headed upstairs.

Ray looked at Winston standing against one of the chairs in the living room. "Want to talk about it?"

Winston turned. "No." Winston turned away and then back to Ray. "Why is this so easy for you?"

Ray looked puzzled. "This isn't easy. Janine is upset, I don't know what is going on with you and Peter is reminding me of Miss Russell's cat."

The last broke through. "Cat?"

"She had a lot of rocking chairs. What is your problem?"

Winston looked away, tension in his shoulders. "It's just not right."

"Were you going to say something?" The words were remarkably even.

Winston spun around, startled by Peter's voice. Beyond him in the doorway, stood Egon. Winston squared himself, as if to let his convictions hang in their own testimony.

Peter fought to stay calm. Ignoring Winston for a moment, he focused on Ray. "Janine--" He'd been vicious.

"I talked to her. She's still upset..."

Peter nodded in acknowledgement. "We'll handle it." Peter glanced at Egon. Marshalling his cool, he faced the newest situation. "Now, Winston..."

Winston stood his ground.

It was an effort to stay calm. "You want to elaborate on how it's not right?"

"It just isn't. You don't just suddenly go playing for the other team."

Peter nodded. "It occur to you that maybe it's more than just sex?"

Winston's eyes went wide as his mouth pulled thin.

"Didn't. Maybe you should think about that." He bit the words out, in an effort not to panic. Peter paused for a long moment. "Look, I couldn't figure out how to say something. So I'm not expecting this to suddenly make sense."

Winston pondered the words, finally nodding warily.

Ray waited, the lull stretching as no one spoke.

"Good." Peter's facade flickered.

Dinner passed quietly before each slipped off to their seperate pursuits. Ray returned to his project downstairs, and Peter puttered about his office before heading up to the lab with some reading material. It was hours later when Egon finally stood from the workbench. He looked over at Peter holding one of his psychology journals, stretched out on the couch. He walked over, aware he hadn't heard a page turn in some time.

"Peter. It's time to turn in."

Peter slowly looked up from the unseen page. Unvoiced questions sought silent answers. His eyes dropped to the offered hand. Peter put his left into it, pulling himself from the couch.

They crossed from the lab to the former guest room, Egon pushing shut the door. "There's something you want to say." Peter prepared to speak and then started getting ready for bed. Egon followed suit.

Pajama-clad, Peter slipped into bed, sitting upright under the covers. He waited until Egon was similarly ensconced. "So, why didn't anything happen between you and Janine?" The jaunty tone was strained.

Egon sighed as he reached around Peter. "Attractive as the possibility, I was never confident I could be whom she thought I was."

Peter turned toward Egon, brittle with questions.

"I was flattered by her attentions, and wary about disappointing them. Hard as it may be for you to believe, I am aware of my limits. Living up to Janine's idealized image... I did a poor job telling her?" The last was given as an answer.

"Spengs. Watergate was a little publicity problem. Yeah. Not that I won any awards." Peter looked rueful. "So, how do we dig ourselves out?"

Egon turned slightly. "I was going to ask you that."

The small door pushed open, Janine stepping through. Determining no one was lying in wait, she strode over to her desk. Janine shed her coat and stowed her purse before slipping into her chair. Janine sat for a moment before plunging into her work. This was the busy season for her too, and nothing had done itself on her 'vacation' day. It just better not be counted against her allotment.

Janine was going full steam with the stapler as the stairs creaked slightly. A voice clearing cough and then a 'Yo' were needed to get her attention. She looked up to see Egon and Peter, both looking slightly uncomfortable.

"If you're ganging up, I'm out of here."

Egon spoke from his spot halfway between the stairs and her desk. "It's rather more in the way of an apology."

"Yeah. I came down to see he didn't botch it. Okay, and to say I'm sorry too." Once he stopped fidgeting, Peter appeared earnestly contrite.

"And I should listen because?" The silence was unexpected, as was more than six feet of physicist looking like nothing more than a five year old once the sugar bowl had been noticed missing.

"Um, I'm going to leave you to it." Peter gave a small rub to Egon's back and turned back up the stairs. "Play nice."

Janine shook her head in exasperation. "And that's the winning contestant?"

"Janine." Egon took a breath to start on another tack. He approached the desk and ducked into Peter's office for a chair. Folding into it, he spoke again. "Janine. I'd like you, for the moment, to separate your opinions of Peter from the fact of my new relationship."

Janine looked at him warily. "Okay..."

"Thank you. I suppose the place to start is at the beginning. You're very different from the women I've known. Your, reactions to me have been flattering and flustering. No one has looked at me and seen what you have. I'd be falsifying findings if I denied that it was attractive. Janine, I couldn't be who you wanted." He raised his hand at the still unvoiced 'Egon' on her lips. "I wanted to be. For short moments I even considered it possible. But.... I'm very sorry."

"But-" She didn't continue. The past couldn't be redone. "What about Peter?"

"Peter knows me better than sometimes I do myself." Egon paused in thought. "Some would consider that he brings out the worst in me." He was clearly lost in memory. "Very occassionally they may be right." His mouth formed a moue. "On the whole, we counterbalance each other quite well. I don't foresee that changing."

"But Peter?!"

Egon smiled gently as he got up.

Janine was still trying to wrap her mind around Egon's words when Peter plopped into the chair.

"If we took this into my office we could complete the 'getting sent to the Principal' motif." Peter smiled nervously. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said. Just that bruise... Not that it excuses anything, just-- He really asked for it?"

Janine shallowly nodded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Peter looked at her in confusion.

"Was egging me on some sort of coping mechanism? Distancing yourself."

Peter struggled to keep his composure. "I'm the psychologist, thank you, Miss Melnitz. Nooo." He looked around and leaned closer. "I honestly thought he needed a little push. I know, a blow that the magnificent Dr. Venkman could miss a diagnosis." He dropped a hand on her shoulder in a open-faced hug. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I still don't get it. You'd think knowing you these years would breed contempt." Janine shrugged out of grasp. "Why now?"

Peter just waggled his head. Even a year ago he'd have ran so fast. A wry smile spread across his face.

"Do you think you could drive more quietly, Peter?" Egon looked back down at his notes and filled in another number.

Ray laughed as Peter instead lambasted yet another motorist and laid on the horn. He glanced worriedly at Winston riding shotgun. He hadn't put up even a word of dissent when Peter had started up Ecto that morning. Like the day before, Winston had been completely diligent. And no more. Finally there was no more time to contemplate either Winston or Peter. They were at the next bust.

"I say we let them tush push the two-steppers." Peter scowled at the Country-themed marque.

Winston ran out from the cover, blasting away at the looming cloud of office supplies. "How's about we sign this in triplicate?"

Two other beams shot out. Moments later, Ray threw the connected traps, screwdriver still clenched in his teeth. The encircling fans of light controlled the fallout trajectories as the animating force was sucked out of the spinning stationery. Mostly.

Peter brushed away a festoon of computer paper. "Aren't they supposed to shred this stuff before the parade?"

Winston exhaled. "Let's float on out of here before your ego goes airborne." He went to help Ray gather the mass of traps. "And, Peter"

"Yeah?"

"I'm driving. You're a menace."

Ray snickered. Peter stood silent at the "ingratitude", before tossing the keys to Winston.

Ecto pulled into the dark firehouse, Janine's shift long ended. The guys piled out, quickly starting on unloading the packs and traps. There was a sense, of uncertain anticipation as they finally headed upstairs into the kitchen.

Egon reached into the cabinet for plates as Winston pulled white boxes from the bag. Ray stood back as Peter grabbed beverages and then glasses. Peter looked at his unusually still friend.

"What's wrong, Tex?"

Ray didn't answer Peter, instead looking at Winston.

He looked away briefly before turning to face all the others, Egon having stepped around the table. "I'm going to have to say it baldfaced." There was just the barest trace of resignation in his words. "This has taken me by surprise, and I've not behaved as I'd wish. I don't understand it, and I've figured out that I don't have to. You're still my friends, still the same people. Just took me longer to figure that out." There was an undercurrent of self-reproach in the words as he met Ray's eyes.

Ray smiled.

"Okay, if the lovefeast is over, I'm starved." Peter hesistated for only a second before plunging into his chair and hitching it closer to the table.

Winston laughed, shaking his head, while Egon looked at Peter with his patented reproach. Boxes were passed as the four digged in, talking animatedly.


	3. Through Brake, Through Briar

Ray bent over the equipment on the the work table, the parts wired together but not contained in the waiting case. It had taken him longer to get started than he'd wanted; that happened during the fall, what with it being the busy season. And he'd had to decide what to build first.

Connections double and triple checked, he switched on the power supply. He visually scanned over the equipment. Confident that none of the parts were going to short out, Ray slowly turned the dial on the box, eyes on the oscilloscope.

The smooth alteration of the sine wave was broken momentarily, only to resume as the dial rotated past the frequency. "What's that?" Ray tuned back to the anomalous signal. He watched the jagged wave break across the screen, grabbed his notebook and jotted down readings. It evened out slowly, leaving an ordinary wave.

Ray looked at it, puzzled, and turned the dial all the way up, then back down. Whatever it was, it was gone. He fiddled with the dial for several more sweeps. Nothing.

As he tried to tease it out, a yawn escaped. He realized he'd been in the small workroom for hours, and it had to be getting quite late. Slipping the tools back into their spots, he turned the light off and closed the door before heading upstairs.

Ray peered into the living room, and noticed that Winston was sliding his latest book onto the shelf. "Finished it already?"

"Just the story I was reading." Winston stretched his arms and back a bit. "Good thing it's a collection. Hard to put down." He looked over at the psychologist on the couch, glued to the TV. "Don't stay in Tombstone too late. You sleep like the dead as it is."

Peter just snorted and waved them off. He listened to the retreating footfalls and then the clanging on the stairs to the third floor. He looked over at the clock, his head lolling back. Sitting up, he tried to figure out who was even in the movie.

Like he even cared. He decided finally that the stampede was never going to end, and zapped it away with the remote. Peter zipped though the channels, each less interesting than the last. One final zap turned the TV dark. He pushed himself out of the couch and through the door, flipping off the light.

Peter scowled at the light peeking out from under the lab door before going into their room. He stripped out of his clothes and pulled on his pajamas, slipping under the cold blankets. He rolled onto his side with a small shiver as he pulled them around himself tighter.

Eventually, he dozed off. He half woke when the door opened and padded footfalls fell alongside the bed. Egon pulled his nightshirt from under his pillow, quietly undressing and pulling it over his head. He moved the neat pile of clothes from the bed before lifting the blankets and sitting. He looked over at Peter, then set his glasses on the nightstand, carefully sliding further under the covers. He turned slightly before gently settling onto his back.

Ray slipped into the small workroom, flipping on the light switch before closing the door. He checked over the connections again, pulling out tools as he went. Everything was still as he'd left it and as it should be. He flicked the power on, and again turned the dial slowly. The sine waves smoothly shifted, without the jagged signal reading.

He'd have to mention it to Egon tonight, just in case Egon's experiment was the origin of the interference. He turned the dial back, ready to start on the next part of his project. There it was again! Ray grabbed his notebook, eyes on the readings. He turned to the right page, logging in the anomaly. He hesitated and then tweaked the dial forward, back and then a little further. It was remarkably focused for noise, quickly falling back to a smooth sine wave on either side. Ray set the knob back, noticing that this time the duration was greater than last night. Even so, it slowly faded away.

"Definitely need to tell Egon about this." Ray studied his notes and took a few additional readings before heading back upstairs.

Winston slumbered peacefully, one arm over the blanket's edge. His muscular form made a neat mound down the middle of the bed, the easy rise and fall of his chest disturbed suddenly by small twitches. Half-awake, he rolled over on his side, trying to figure out what had woke him.

Squeaking. Metallic squeaking. He looked out into the dark room, before exasperation spread over his face at the slow realization of what he was hearing. Coming from the guestroom.

He got up hastily as the noise continued. Throwing on clothes, he headed down quickly to start breakfast, slowing down just enough to not reverberate the spiral stairs.

Winston had just started pulling out the beginnings of breakfast preparations when he saw Ray bound up the stairs. "Ray."

"Hi, Winston. Egon up yet?"

Winston looked away, and then back. "Haven't seen him."

Ray looked crestfallen for a moment. "Guess he stayed up pretty late?"

Winston prayed for strength as he finished gathering his materials. "What has you so excited?"

The engineer smiled. "I'm picking up a signal. Doesn't stay for very long, but I found it both last night and this morning. Thought it might be something Egon was working on. Does he have something actively cycling?"

Winston avoided saying anything for a moment. "Whatever it is, it's going to have to wait. Did you see that list of busts we've got for today?"

Peter held onto the cloth covered back, hands gentling and seeking connection. Egon drifted satisfied, nuzzling lazily. Peter felt the moment Egon's mind reengaged before he could slip away. Egon pulled away, giving Peter a last brush before leaving the bed and the room.

Peter sagged into the mattress after the snick of the door faded. He lay there for several minutes, staring at the ceiling, picking at the already cooling sheet under his right hand. His eyes darted from one clot of paint to another while his mouth considered twitching. Finally he unbuttoned his pajama top, forcing buttons through one after the other. Egon, of course, was in the shower, giving Peter entirely too long to stew. He wiped at his stomach perfunctorily before balling up the top and throwing it in the corner.

It didn't improve his mood, and now he was cold, bare chested and alone in bed. Peter sat there stubbornly for a long moment before throwing his legs over the bed's edge and jamming his feet into his slippers. He padded around to the closet, and ripped out a particularly disreputable t-shirt and a paint-spattered pair of jeans before grabbing underwear. Slamming the drawer closed with his hip dented his mood at best for a minute.

Egon came back into the room, heading for the closet and his clothes. "Peter, the shower is yours now." He slipped a pink shirt off its hanger, turning as the door closed harder than necessary. He looked at the mark his fingers had made in the collar, doing his best to smooth out the dents before dressing.

Ray looked up excitedly when Egon entered the kitchen. "Hey, I wanted to ask you, do you have something cycling in the lab?"

"Cycling?" Egon pushed his glasses up before sitting at the table, making the best of the now limited choices. "I have no electromechanical experiments of extended duration presently. Why do you ask, Ray?"

"I'm trying to figure out this signal I'm picking up. I thought it might be feedback from the lab, but if you're not running anything..."

"I could take a look at it this evening."

Ray nodded enthusiastically, starting up commentary on the upcoming day's busts.

Peter wasn't happy. His shower had finished off lukewarm before it'd even started. He clanged down the stairs like Marley, and plodded into the kitchen. Slimer was hovering by the table, drooling a green puddle onto the floor. Just.

"Don't even think it, Spud." Peter snatched the last of the edibles, leaving the rest to the ectoplasmic disposal. "My favorite: dry toast cold egg sandwich."

"Not the weirdest you've eaten." Ray looked at Slimer finishing off the former foodstuffs on the table. "He did wait for you?"

Peter bit into his breakfast, a big piece of egg falling to the floor only to be slurped up by a goopy tongue. "Sure, he's a real humanitarian."

"We've got some great busts today--"

"Not until I've had my breakfast." Peter headed for the stairs, clutching the remaining not-toast tidbit between the slices of bread.

Peter was who knew how many comics into a standup stupor, heckling the television listlessly. The no longer topical jokes fared especially badly under his volleys of snide retorts.

Winston looked over his book. "Pete, if they annoy you that much, why don't you turn it off?"

"Cause the other choices are the fungus marathon and Laugh-In reruns."

Winston shook his head. "Sixty channels and nothing on."

"Good thing we only had to pay for parts." Peter settled back into the parade of pundits. He was into one set so much that he almost didn't notice Egon passing between the two staircases, heading to the main floor.

Winston looked up at the relative silence to find Peter looking out the door. "P--"

"Egon branching out?"

"Ray's building something. Egon probably remembered just now that he was going to take a look. Ray's got an unexpected reading."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Like that isn't our motto. Expect the unexpected." Ray was a friend but budging Egon in the midst of an exciting battery of tests was right up there with relocating Excalibur. Could take some explosives. "What is Ray playing with?" His breezy tone was almost perfect.

Winston snorted. "Like I understood his explanation?" He paused. "You could go take a look."

"Nah, the acts are getting newer." Didn't make them funnier.

Peter was slouched further into the couch when Egon came back upstairs. Egon paused, looking into the room, or rather, at one particular psychologist. For a moment, he seemed about to say something. Instead he continued upstairs silently.

Winston bookmarked the end of his latest section not much later, and turned off the lamp. He walked to the door, glanced at Peter on the couch and hit the room light, before heading upstairs.

Peter opened the door to the former guestroom, nearly forgetting to exhale when he saw Egon asleep. In the streetlight, his blond hair nearly glowed. Peter flicked on the dresser lamp and gently closed the door before changing. Turning off the lamp, he padded over the cold floor and slipped under the covers. Peter looked over at his bedmate, kissed Egon's temple, and then rolled over.

He was asleep before Egon rolled against him, spooning.

Ray ran back down the stairs to the main floor and into the workroom right after supper. He hadn't had a chance to tinker with the apparatus that morning, as the day had started with an early emergency call. Egon had postulated that Ray was picking up the signature of the containment unit, or perhaps just harmonics from the local electrical grid in general. Ray made some adjustments to pick up those signals specifically. He performed the standard search. As he had thought, they were on several frequencies, and not in the bandwidth of his anomaly. They were also much more coherent. He took down notes on the signatures before reconfiguring the equipment. They just might be able to improve containment efficiency...

He pushed the thought aside, knowing that project would have to wait until the spring, at least. He wondered briefly if PKE fluctuated on the same schedule in the southern hemisphere, before tuning to the signal. It wasn't there. Ray left the dial in place; it was unlikely that it would start just as he tuned... Then it was back, and stronger than before. Ray took down information hurriedly, testing to see if it was more or less focused than before. And then it was gone. Ray twisted up and down the dial, finding no trace.

He turned to building an additional piece of equipment.

Janine looked at her desk while she settled in for the day. Three of the Ghostbusters were loading up Ecto-1. "Where's my radio?" She looked around the area that made up the 'office', still not seeing her portable sanity device. "Guys, have ya seen my radio?"

She looked over, realizing they weren't tuned in. "Hey, Slimer didn't think there was a burger in my radio, again, did he?!" It had really ticked her off when he'd divebombed it during a sizzling meat ad.

The three men looked over at her non-sequiter shrill. Winston spoke up. "What's the problem?"

"My radio. Where is it?" Janine watched as the fourth, red-headed Ghostbuster slid into view from upstairs. "Morning, Ray." She smiled when she took in the still towel-tousled hair; someone had been running late this morning.

Ray looked just a little downcast. "Um, I'll have it for you tomorrow." He rushed for the waiting car, hopping in as the large doors opened to the street.

Janine looked mildly perplexed as she sat down to work.

Winston looked on as Ray slipped out of the first floor workroom, carrying Janine's radio. "Busting not dangerous enough for you?"

Ray placed the radio in its customary spot. "I really thought I'd have it back together by this morning."

Winston just shook his head. Ray would have been thinking exactly that. "What are you working on that'd make you risk the Wrath of Melnitz?" Ray was about the only man that could get away with messing with a woman's electrical appliances.

"I needed to test the speakers." Ray wandered back into the workroom, starting the delicate work of securing the apparatus into the case.

Winston whistled at the speakers, an entirely inadequate word for the two mini-towers. "Every track getting its own channel?"

"Didn't have enough magnets." Ray snapped on the back and twisted in the small screws. "These will allow me to hear the signal and pick it apart. I can't tell much about it from the raw output on the oscilloscope, it's too complex."

Winston shook his head. Only Ray... "Still on that?" Winston looked closer at the speakers, the LEDs on their tops intriguing him. "You can just about control the Shuttle, huh?"

"We could listen in if I hooked them up to the main dish." Ray's eyes brightened for a moment. "This signal is very unusual. It's focused and of very limited duration, but I don't think it's cyclical." Ray thought for a second. "I suppose I could attach a printer..." Instead he started flipping switches, first on the 'scope, then on the apparatus and finally on the speakers. There was a noticeable electrical hum in the small room. Ray picked up his notebook and pen before starting to turn the dial.

Winston watched good-naturedly as Ray became immersed in his project. After several passes up and down the dial and growing perplexity on Ray's face, Winston started inching towards the door. He still remembered getting built into one of Egon's projects--

The sine wave went jagged and the low whine erupted into a loud whistling. Ray turned down the volume, took some notes and started fiddling with settings on the speakers. Winston made his exit unnoticed.

Egon entered the bedroom quietly, setting his shoes beside the dresser before closing the door and heading towards the bed. He pulled his nightshirt out as he watched Peter sleep by the pale light. He efficiently changed for bed and removed his glasses, setting them aside on the nightstand. Gingerly, he lifted the blankets and slid in beside Peter. He lay there, feeling the heat radiating from Peter's back, as he waited for sleep to take him.

"Nice of you to join me."

Egon started. "I didn't intend to wake you."

"I noticed." Peter rolled onto his back.

Egon was puzzled by the tone. He was still attempting to formulate a response when Peter continued.

"Was it so long ago you weren't sleeping without me? Wanted to sleep with me? Sleep with me."

"Peter." Egon rolled closer, still not touching. He'd been misunderstood. "I meant simply that I didn't want to wake you. I was trying to be considerate."

"Some consideration, sneaking into bed. Sleeping alone for two? What's that about? Like I don't wake up with you groping all over me."

Egon swallowed, then started to reach for his glasses and swing his legs out of bed. "I'm sorry." He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"That didn't come out right." Peter sighed. "Just... damn it, this has gone beyond friendship. It's love, Egon. So don't try slipping into bed unnoticed." Peter looked at Egon, still stopped mid-escape. "Or out of it. Not like this."

Egon looked over his shoulder, then his arm retracted under the blanket and his legs pulled back across the mattress.

Peter withdrew his hand. "Let's get some sleep." He rolled over, smiling when he felt Egon's warm breath on his neck.

Winston rolled over, to find Ray sitting on the edge of his bed. "Just turning in or getting up?"

"Sorry." Ray couldn't reign in his excitement entirely. "I think I'm really close. I had to recompress the signal, and--" Ray watched Winston hide a yawn. "Sorry. I'm going to work on it." Ray slipped his shoe on and headed downstairs, trying to be quiet.

Winston slumped back against his pillow. If only you could bottle that enthusiasm. "Wouldn't need coffee," he muttered. He readjusted his pillow and blankets and went back to sleep.

Egon nuzzled into a warm neck, his arms wrapped firmly around a solid chest. His hands splayed and wandered, nose traced ear and nape. Chin rubbed shoulder. Egon woke up. His arms went limp, and he pulled his face back minutely.

The red numbers of the clock were a blur, however the ambient light told him it was some time before morning proper. According to Venkman Standard Time anyway. Egon breathed deeply, eyes closed. He could just about stay that way. Just. Gingerly, he untangled from Peter, leaving the bed and then the room without waking him.

Peter opened an eye, wondering why he was awake. The sunlight was barely as bright as the streetlamps it had replaced. He noticed the empty side of the bed, and struck it with a half-cupped hand, peripherally aware that the sheet had cooled. Peter rolled over, face down on Egon's side. He wallowed, finally pushing himself up from the mattress. Rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand, he slumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes on the way to the bathroom.

Winston stood at the threshold of the kitchen, leaning on the doorjamb. "Peter," In disbelief, Winston entered the room. Breakfast wasn't very far along, but Peter making it at all... "Did you sleep last night?"

More was cut off by Ray bounding up the stairs, ducking into the kitchen when he noticed people. "Morning. I think tonight I'll be able to decompose the signal."

"Eww, not at breakfast." Peter made a face and then turned back to his cooking.

Winston just shook his head as he pulled some juice out from the fridge. "Still don't know where it's coming from?"

Ray started pulling out flatware. "That's the odd thing. It's almost a local effect, but it's not being caused by any of the equipment in the firehouse."

"Or being transmitted." Winston thought for a moment.

"You're going to be disappointed when it turns out to be some kid with a ham radio." Peter transferred food from the stove to the table. He looked at Ray. "Then again, it'd give you a new penpal."

Ray rolled his eyes, smiling at Peter's grin.

Egon strolled into the kitchen, assiduously writing down figures in a small notebook. He sat down at the table without lifting his eyes from the page. He missed the look Peter flashed at him.

"You are in for a treat. A rare creation. A Venkman breakfast."

"Didn't Frankenstein say the same thing?" Winston pulled his chair up to the table.

Peter sat at his desk, aggressively going through a stack of paperwork with his pen. Each bill required him to read it carefully before unearthing the company deskset, write the check and mark it in the register. Other pieces gathered a barked laugh and a paperclip attaching an enlarged photocopy of the property damage clause of the standard contract. He dashed out scathing retorts to a few corporations who were trying to quibble about their arrears.

Past the spill of light from Peter's office, Ray was continuing with his project. The apparatus and speakers had been joined by yet more equipment, still in the state of electronic spaghetti. He flipped toggle switches, pressed buttons, twisted dials and slid slides, all the while taking comprehensive notes of the results.

"That your signal?" Winston looked at the oscilloscopes as the waves did everything but make a smiley face. He asked the question again before exhaling in exasperation and tapping Ray on the shoulder.

"Hi, Winston." Ray took off the large stereo headphones, a cacophony of whistles, clicks and other noise spilling from them before he flicked a switch.

"I thought your signal didn't hang around."

"It's just a substitute I built for testing." Ray pointed at one of the coteries of coils and capacitors before disconnecting it from the circuit and reconnecting the actual apparatus in its place.

Peter pulled himself up the stairs, kicking them a strong temptation when he saw the light seeping from under the closed lab door. Instead, he mounted the landing and trudged into his room. He looked at the still rumple-blanketed bed. Frowning, he grabbed his pajamas from where he'd stuffed them after his shower. Finally he started to get undressed. He heard the door close as his shirt was over his eyes.

Egon caught his breath slightly, schooling his face by the time Peter had his arms free. He pulled his folded nightshirt from under his pillow, slipped his suspenders from his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt.

"What was this morning about?"

"This morning?" Egon removed his shirt and folded it, setting it aside.

"Your houdini. After I asked you not to."

"I don't recall any instructions involving a deceased magician." Egon finished undressing, dropping the nightshirt smoothly over his head. He started to lift the blankets, instead straightening them. He flipped the righted bedding back. "Coming to bed?"

Peter looked at Egon, mouth agape. "Damn it, were you paying any attention?! You slipped out this morning the same way you slip in."

"I could say something about your own behavior." Egon sat down on the bed, his back rigid.

"What?" He was starting to get cold shirtless, but he didn't want to put on his pajama top or discarded shirt.

Egon turned to look at Peter. "You retire late."

"And I'm still going to sleep alone." Peter finally shrugged into his pajama shirt.

"You are more than capable of coming into the lab."

"Don't tell me you couldn't find me." Peter shook his head. "What the hell have you been working on to keep you in there that long?"

"You were engaged in just what sort of research?" Egon pulled off, folded and set aside his glasses.

Peter's eyes went flinty and his mouth pinched into a grimace. "And had it been something worth ignoring me, you'd be boring me with polysyllabic nomenclature." Peter hastily undid and removed his pants, throwing them aside with a thud, and finished changing.

"Peter." Egon tried focusing without his glasses. "You've always come to pry me out of the lab before."

"Make sure you reach escape velocity." Peter plopped onto the bed. "Which one of Newt's laws did we just demonstrate?"

Egon shot Peter a myopic glance. "First Law of Motion."

"That would have been my second guess. Okay, so I was thinking thermodynamics."

Egon's mouth quirked slightly. "So, Doctor Venkman, what is the correct manner of getting into and out of bed?"

Winston watched Ray encourage the equipment, spinning dials up and down, looking for the signal. "Looks like it doesn't want to play tonight." He turned to leave. The faint crackle came from the speakers, turning into complex whistling. Winston looked back at Ray rapidly making notes. "Ray."

Ray lifted an eye up from his notes. "Wow." There was a very wispy image of a drapery-clad woman in the lab, her garment billowing as if in a wind. Keeping one eye on her and another on the equipment, he hunted for a meter.

Winston had one out while Ray was still searching. He looked at it, concerned when the apparition didn't register. Should have been at least be a class three. He was still prodding it as she slowly faded. "Is this broken?" He handed it over as he looked where she had been.

Ray looked over the PKE meter as only he could, fieldstripping and rebuilding it as he went. "No, it's fine. But... it's set for ghosts."

"What else could she have been?" Winston watched Ray detach the 'graph and connect the leads to the meter. "What are you doing?"

"The meter was set for ghosts, but I think it might have picked up more than what it read out." Ray touched something and the styli jerked into motion for several seconds. He sat the meter down as they stilled, staring at the printout.

Winston had a bad feeling about anything that could render Ray speechless.

Peter walked at a crawl into the kitchen, speeding up slightly as he neared the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup, took a sip, and then grabbed the sugar, dumping in an unhealthy amount.

Ray came bounding into the kitchen while Peter was drinking his coffee. "Hey, last night the signal became a spectral manifestation."

"You say that like it was a good thing." Peter slammed back about half of the mug's contents. "Let me guess: blue slime. And now it's going to play hide and go seek in the firehouse."

"Of course not." Ray did get a contemplative look briefly. "We aren't being haunted."

"Good. I hate working for free. And cleaning up afterwards."

"She's not actually a ghost."

Peter looked at Ray. His questions were still fighting out priority when Winston walked in.

"What is she?" Winston opened the fridge, pulling out a juice pitcher. "Peter, you about to join humanity, or are you staying a zombie for the day?"

"She? How did a signal turn into a 'she'?" Peter brought the mug to his lips again, noticing the thick sediment of sugar just in time. "I don't want to know." Peter relaxed slightly when no extended description poured out, and added some coffee to his cup of sugar. "What are you going to do about her?"

"I hadn't really thought about it." Ray thought for a moment. "Help her, I suppose."

Peter lowered the mug. "Help her? You don't even know what she is. Damn it, now you've got me calling a signal a her." Peter took a swig of the coffee.

"Well, she looked like a muse."

Ray and Peter both looked at Winston. He continued, "What else would be wearing classical drapery?"

Peter looked on in disbelief, tipping out the coffee mug and turning on the water to rinse it. Ray thought for a moment.

"I suppose that's a good description. We'll need to figure out the muse of what, though." Ray left the kitchen, excited. Winston finished his juice, put the pitcher back in the fridge and rinsed his glass before following.

Peter stood for a moment dumbfounded before turning to the fridge.

Winston looked up from his latest book, and glanced at the piles of other books spread over the heavy table. "So, where do we start?" Despite his whispering, he looked down the stacks and across the open room.

Ray started to answer, but stood instead. He pulled on his coat, and sliding his chair back in, he gathered half the books. Winston followed with the other half, both depositing them on a waiting cart. He waited until they were through the doors to speak.

"Let's try Gimbel's." Ray started walking, patting the lion on the way down the stairs.

Winston followed. "Think that's going to be the answer?" Gimbel's was one of a laundry list of old department stores that had early radio stations. They were already reaching, pretty much assuming that since the 'muse' started as a radio signal, that she was a radio muse.

"With our luck? Better to check it now than after we've been all over New York," Ray smiled back at Winston while jogging ahead.

Winston shook his head. "Then it would be the answer." They blended into the bustle of the New York streets.

A heavy handful of blocks later they stood in front of a cliff-like gray stone building, the windows boarded up for several stories off the street. Predating the nearby skyscrapers, it retained the pride of an aging matron among young dragoons, even through the plywood.

Winston looked around cautiously as they slowed to a near-tourist crawl. "What's the plan?"

"Get inside like any other abandoned building." Ray headed around, looking for a discreet point of entry. Winston shook his head and followed.

Inside the building, the street noise was muffled to a low rumble. Ray's pocket maglite cut a narrow blade through the dark, showing the stripped main floor. Here and there, it caught on the natural detritus of moving out.

"Like a tomb." Ray picked his way through carefully, lashing the light up to the ceiling several stories above from time to time.

Winston shook his head. He made sure he followed closely, semi-whispering, "How will we know whether it's here... whatever we're looking for?"

Ray pulled out something that looked like a cross between a remote and a handleless PKE meter. "It's hardwired for her frequency, and I've increased the gain." He looked between it and the light, finally handing Winston the light.

"Let's do a standard pattern."

Peter fidgeted in the living room, finally showered and dressed, but incredibly bored and annoyed. Realistically, he understood waking up to an empty bed. He slept in, and Egon probably figured to let him. Yet after the past week, he would've really liked a surprise. Damn it, they had the firehouse to themselves, and Egon was in the lab. Peter headed downstairs.

He hunted through his office, collecting unread and half-read periodicals from the various places he'd stashed them. He gently replaced the girlie magazines that got knocked about in the process. Gathering his reading together, he went back upstairs.

Several journals in hand, Peter opened the the lab door and breezed in, plopping onto the couch. He dropped the magazines on the floor, picked up the top one, and flipped to the start of an article.

The first one he completed in good spirits. The second article, he rustled the pages a touch loudly. By the third one, he barely remembered one sentence to the next. After a few paragraphs of the fourth, he spiked it like a football. The smack of glossy heavy stock rang out in the quiet room. Egon looked back from the lab bench reprovingly.

"I've finally gotten your attention." Peter stalked over to Egon.

"That's never been a problem before."

Peter bit back the torrent of half-formed words, twisting one way and then back. "Damn it." He ran his hands into his hair in frustration.

Egon looked at Peter in concern. "What is wrong?"

"The short list is what's right." Peter almost headed for the door, instead throwing himself onto the abused couch.

"Peter." Egon's eyes went wide before standing and following the psychologist. "What is the matter?"

"Damn it! Isn't the fact that we are alone and still in the lab enough?"

Egon blinked. "You have something in mind? Would you care to elucidate?"

Peter bolted upright. "Get horizontal; vertical for that matter. Run the bases. Play doctor. Make the beast with two backs."

The corner of Egon's mouth quirked and his eyes locked with Peter's. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"Like I should have to!" Peter became very quiet, listening for any sound from the rest of the firehouse.

"Despite the phenomena with the phone, we are not telepathic. Speech is the customary method of intercourse."

It was Peter's turn to blink.

"You had no problems communicating prior to Winston and Ray's disclosure." Egon looked at Peter. "That is involved somehow , isn't it?"

"Maybe. But I shouldn't have to drag you to bed at night."

"And I should wait for you to turn in?" Egon waited for the words to register on Peter's face. "Why does Winston and Ray knowing make such a difference?"

Peter looked at Egon disbelievingly.

"I can conjecture, however it is not the same thing as knowing." Egon reached out for Peter, hand landing on his T-shirt covered shoulder. "You'd think it'd be easier for you to talk about this than act."

"I'm just a practical guy." The words caught slightly in his throat. "Hands on."

"And that's why you've been hiding instead of coming to bed?"

"How can I be hiding if you know where I am? If you weren't holed up in here..." Peter's steam fizzled under Egon's steady gaze. "So, who's been hiding?"

"What corrective measure do you suggest?" Egon stepped back, turning towards the work bench, tidying up defensively.

Peter opened his mouth, speechless. He pushed off from the couch, and was across the room before he could think. His mouth latched onto Egon's. Off-guard, Egon speedily took control, deepening the kiss.

Finally they slipped apart enough to breathe. "We will have to continue this."

Peter drew Egon closer, teasing lips with his own. "Concur." Peter resumed the mouth meld.

"That's not what I meant." Egon nuzzled Peter's jaw, hands sliding across the strong back. "Intending on that vertical?"

The question took a moment to register. Then Peter chuckled, breaking the embrace, pushing Egon towards the door. "Rather control the horizontal."

The bedroom door reverberated, to be echoed by springs.

Winston stood in the stairwell's doorway, waiting for Ray to finish the last bit of the sweep. The unboarded upper levels made them less dependent on the flashlight, but more concerned with being spotted. Even though neither of them had expected to find anything, Ray frowned slightly as he followed Winston out the door and down the dark stairs.

They exited cautiously from their entrance, blending into the normal flow of foot traffic smoothly. Ray's spirits lifted as he headed for the next possible building. Winston smiled while he lengthened his stride to catch up.

The ruck-blanketed bedmound started moving on the right side. The motion of a long arm and leg were discernible over a more compact mass, while a blond head bobbed. After several minutes, Egon abruptly stilled, and started to edge towards the side of the mattress.

"Hey." Peter turned, tousle-headed, towards Egon, eyelids still at half-mast with sleep. "What's wrong?" Peter re-established contact under the covers. Egon's confused expression registered.

"Wasn't a little wakie action what you had planned?" The query was underscored by Peter's own invitation. "Egon?" Peter stopped at Egon's lack of response.

"I thought- that you were adverse to 'wakies'."

"Where the hell did you get that idea? Best reason to get up."

Egon couldn't refrain from smiling, though only for a mere instant. "You said.."

Peter sat up, pulling the blankets up over his chilling flesh. "I would never say something that stupid."

"'...Wake up with you groping all over.'" Egon pulled on his glasses, oblivious to the cold air against his exposed chest. He started to speak, only to be cut off by Peter.

"That wasn't what I meant!"

"You were remarkably precise in your words. The tone was distinctly pejorative."

Peter looked at Egon in disbelief. "You were still wearing your nightshirt, just hitching it up for business. The contrast I was going for was you slipping into bed like I wasn't even here."

Egon blinked before sliding back under the covers. Peter stopped his tongue while he reviewed what he'd spit out. His eyes rolled up and back as he castigated himself silently.

Using his best mattress manner, Peter sidled closer. "Call me old-fashioned, but I like birthday suits." Egon twisted back at the comment. Peter waggled his eyebrows. "We seem to be undressed."

Egon did a good charade of a fixed point.

Peter waited for a moment, then ducked under the covers as far as Egon's chest. A long-fingered hand clasped over blankets and head, only to slip away. Peter surfaced, settling along Egon. "Nude is good." Then it was Peter's turn to gasp as he was flipped.

Winston stared at the collection of storefronts along Broadway, shaking his head. It wasn't bad enough that the old Wanamaker's had sprawled over more than a block, or that it had burned down when he was just a kid. But this. "Let's get started."

It was like an annoying bust without the slime, surreptitiously searching, hoping for a sign that they'd found whatever it was. Quickly they learned that it was easier for Ray to be overlooked if Winston browsed away from him.

"Is there something I can help you find?" The sales rep quickly noted the number of pockets on Winston's coat.

Ray gestured up ahead to one of the restaurants. They slipped inside, Ray ordering as soon as possible, then handing Winston some money before leaving him at the register. Winston made his choices, paid and then carried the tray of food from the counter further into the Ukrainian deli. Finally Ray rejoined him, shaking his head before smiling at the pierogis and big bowl of borscht.

Winston focused on the cartoon image of a black hooded man leaning on a huge ax before letting himself be hustled inside. The display of left mannequin legs high on the shelf made him wonder at first. Then he noticed the coffee mugs as Ray started his sweep. Wandering down the tightly loaded shelves, he couldn't believe that they expected to sell half of the stuff. Goofy little signs gave the weirdest 'suggested uses.' Partway down the second aisle, he got the strangest feeling, finally realizing it was because no 'helpful' clerk had approached him yet. He kept strolling through, boggling at the odd things the buyers had found.

Ray looked at the small sack with the Axman on it as they stepped out, and Winston slipped it into his pocket. "What'd you get?"

"Scrabble letters and glow-in-the-dark fishing line."

Finished, they walked down the block. As they approached 12th, Winston stopped. He looked from one storefront to the other and back several times. The right corner read "The Strand;" the one just ahead, "Forbidden Planet."

"Ray." He couldn't believe... "You knew." It was just possible that Ray didn't know every used bookstore or comic shop in New York. But an intersection with both? Impossible.

Peter crawled out of bed in his robe to set a stack of emptied plates on the dresser. Quickly, he slid between the clean sheets, tossing his robe aside. He traced a fingertip along and behind Egon's ear, smoothing back a few stray wisps into the damp hair before planting a row of small kisses leading to the full mouth.

Egon rolled Peter over, intensifying the soft brush of lips into a deeper, more penetrating kiss.

Peter slipped out of the escalating embrace. "Egon. This ride is closed for maintenance." He snuggled back against Egon's bare chest, hand lazily brushing.

Egon looked down at Peter curled up against him. He stroked fingers along Peter's neck, lips tracing face to jaw. His hands slipped lower under the blankets.

Peter nuzzled pacifically before he squeaked out, "Spengs!" He sat up. "I know I'm irresistible..."

"Peter?"

He turned, taking on a concerned expression at Egon's complete perplexity. He rubbed his hand meditatively over Egon's cheek. "Let's just fiddle around. It's not all tilt-a-whirl and bumpercars," Peter leered, "fun as that is." Peter slid down, wrapping an arm over Egon and hugging him close.

Egon placed his own arms around Peter experimentally, first in a loose embrace,then slowly cinching it tighter.

Winston and Ray approached the subway steps, weary from their fruitless search. As they joined the flow of people heading down, Winston caught sight of something from the corner of his eye. Grabbing Ray, he fought his way cross-stream. Floating just above the sidewalk was the gossamery woman.

They stared for a moment, unmindful of the weird looks, people walking around them. Several brushed through the muse, causing her to shimmer. Winston was the first to start looking around, as if trying to find his bearings.

"They can't see her." The question of why was foremost in his statement. "Why now?"

Ray answered only by following her as she started gliding away. Winston set off after the occultist.

Winston looked at the Library in disbelief as they passed, continuing Uptown. When she finally halted, he looked in exasperation at the lit-up Empire State Building. Ray started to speak, his expression apologetic.

Winston raised his hand to stop Ray's explaination. "I don't want to know. I just don't want to know." Winston opened the door, and let the muse glide inside.

They followed her out of the elevator and down the hall, where she stopped at a door. They halted, Winston gesturing that Ray should try it. It opened and they entered, going through the half-lit receptionist area. On the other side was a warren of short cubicles with people wearing phone headsets. Few noted their entrance, either too focused to see them or too bored to care.

The muse skated through the center, and homed in on a particular spot, where a spectral halo microphone materialized. She plucked it out of the air, then glided back to Ray and Winston, snatches of old radio broadcasts sounding as she moved. The microphone morphed into a minuscule headset. As she slipped it on, her hemline shortened. She spun up to the ceiling and disappeared in a popflash.

Ray and Winston looked at each other and made a quick retreat out of the office, down the hall and into the elevator. Again on the first floor, they headed for the street doors, this time passing by the display on NBC history.

Peter and Egon, both dressed, walked into the living room. Peter flopped onto the couch while Egon opened the cabinet under the stereo. Deftly, he poured a record from its sleeve and lowered it onto the spindle, gently setting the tone arm to a track. The light sounds of a string orchestra started while he walked over to the couch. He offered a hand to Peter.

Peter looked up perplexed. The music continued as Peter belatedly realized Egon's intent. "You have got to be kidding."

"On the contrary." He looked at Peter for a moment. "What was it you said? Not all roller coasters and bumper cars?"

Peter stood, wondering why Egon would misquote on purpose.

Egon placed his right hand on Peter's waist, holding his left one up and out.

Peter gawked. "Oh, no, you don't. I am not letting you lead."

Egon stepped forward with his left foot. He stepped to the right with his right foot then left foot. After a few awkward shuffles, Peter gave up in self-defense, still recalcitrant during Egon's right back, side left rights.

A minute later, Egon turned them out from the couch, directed Peter into a circle before progressing them further around the room.

The tone arm was nearly at the center when Ray and Winston peered in from the doorway. Egon acknowledged them curtly. Peter was blissfully unaware of Ray's broad grin and Winston's blinking disbelief, until Egon hesitated a turn for a split second too long, causing Peter to look behind him.

Peter signaled Egon covertly to execute a turn. "What, you thought I couldn't dance?"


	4. Journeys End

The Ghostbusters were unusually quiet, no repartee joining the whine of their packs. Just the sound of labored breathing, unheard under the roar of their current adversary. It was a struggle to target four beams on the demon and harder to hold them. They took turns being one of three desperately holding on and being odd man out. Again and again the fourth man took aim, either to be quickly shook off, or be replaced by another whose beam skittered away.

And then Peter was shaken loose while Winston was still trying to get a bead.

"Mortals!" A gateway opened and the demon walked into it, knocking Egon before him like a pebble. The blond man tumbled end over end through the portal, a small jet of flame the only mark of his passage.

"NO!" Peter tackled Ray before the red-head could be dragged through the already closing veil. He stared at the now empty space before them, moving aside from the occultist. He didn't notice the other man taking PKE readings, nor even the gathering dark of an early spring evening.

"Winston." Ray knew he'd need help with Peter. Nothing. "Winston?" Ray peered around, wishing for a flashlight. The photosensors had probably been fried in the streetlamps. "Winston!"

Peter roused enough to follow Ray in his search. After minutes without anything, "Ray?"

Ray pulled a PKE meter off Peter's pack, calibrating it. He made a sweep with it silently. "He's not here either."

"What the he-" Peter looked over the hand clapped over his mouth.

"We will get them back."

It was quiet and pre-dawn, a thick fog rolling through the sward. A pale lump lay among the darker grass, unnoticed for the moment. Hooves could be heard, and the rattle of wheels.

As it was, it was likely the occupants of the carriage were the only people awake at that hour, at least truly sensate in the chill of not yet morning. The leaner man rapped at the roof, calling to the driver to stop. He had already lurched out of the slowed carriage before his companion could react.

He called back to the cab. "Bring the rug."

The stockier man did as bid, gathering the thick cloth and telling the driver to stay before running after the first man.

"Stand back."

"Holmes, he's sure to be injured. I can't do anything from here." The blond lean form was sprawled, limbs bent.

The taller man sighed as he acknowledged the point. "Follow my footsteps, Watson. Don't trample any evidence."

Watson approached, gasping as he saw the tatters that served as clothing. He looked back up to Holmes when he noticed neither blood nor reeking filth. Kneeling, he smoothed the rug over the form after carefully checking for a pulse and broken bones.

"Peculiar." Holmes looked about, turning back in annoyance. "I shall have to wait 'til light to investigate properly. His injuries?"

"Nothing better treated here than inside. May I say I find that surprising."

Holmes picked the man up easily, standing. "Lead on."

Removing the lanky load from the growler was again the more difficult part of the journey, much as getting him inside had been. Holmes waited at the door effortlessly while Watson paid the driver. He grinned at the haggling.

"Good lord! Who is that?"

"Mrs. Hudson, that is what I'm going to determine." He took the seventeen stairs in stride, though climbing nearly sidewise. He was mildly surprised as Mrs. Hudson reached the top barely after him, opening the door.

"Thank you. Watson, your linens are clean?" Not awaiting an answer, he passed through the sitting room and into the smaller bedchamber.

Dr. Watson followed. "A basin of warm water, if you please." Mrs. Hudson quickly left to comply. Watson started to detach his cuffs, walking to his bed and patient. Holmes had lit the lamp and was holding it to best advantage. "Thank you." He knew it was as much Holmes' eagerness for facts, but it paid to give the impulse notice. He checked the man's head and found several lumps. Pushing aside the blue strips of fabric, he searched more carefully for injuries, finding mostly contusions and abrasions. Sure that his patient wasn't suffering from serious internal injuries, Watson started working the fabric free. "What could do this, Holmes?"

Holmes ignored the question, peering over the light blue fabric closely. "Is this all he was wearing?" Answering his own question, he pulled out a pair of tweezers and teased free a pink thread. "That will have to wait until I can look at where we found him. No supposition before the facts." He left the room, carrying the cloth with him.

Watson, however, was curious. He couldn't make sense of any of this, not the shredded clothing, not the injuries or rather general lack of them, nor the strange blond hair that was much too long.

"Doesn't look an Aesthete, does he?" Mrs. Hudson remarked as she brought in a basin and several clean cloths. "Doctor, you need to rest. You've surely been up all night. Nothing here but some practical nursing, correct?" She held her ground until he admitted she was right. "If it's not pointless, could you try to convince Mr. Holmes of the same."

Peter got out of Ecto numb. Only habit made him walk to the back, grabbing two packs from the cargo hold, one with its shoulder straps dragging.

Ray hefted the other two out more easily, following Peter to the charger. Finally, when he couldn't take the silence anymore, "We will get them back."

Peter just looked back, wordless, before cycling up the power.

Ray gripped his shoulder and left Peter to empty the traps. He headed over to the phone, dialing from memory. "Hi, Janine. Yeah-- Winston and Egon... I have readings to interpret, they went through the demon's gate. Sure. Be careful. I know." He hung up the phone, and turned.

"Janine coming over?"

"Yeah." Convinced that they would get the others back, Ray also knew time was vital. "Peter, take a shower. I'll know more after looking at the readings." Impulsively, he pulled his friend into a bear-hug. "Thanks for that save."

Peter held on and then slapped Ray's back, shooing him upstairs. With a last look around, Peter followed.

Winston exhaled slowly. Whatever had happened felt like a truckload of bricks. Cautiously he checked that he hadn't damaged anything too vital; at length he sat up. What he saw made him want to lie back down. No cars, no light poles. That he wasn't in the park didn't faze him too badly. That it was dawn was more worrisome.

He rolled over onto his knees, trying to get a sense of where he was and find a way to let the guys know he was okay. _Egon._ They had to get Egon back from the gate. Winston looked for his pack; the emergency release must have opened when he got hit. All he needed was a civilian pointing it at someone.

His search convinced him his pack hadn't made the journey. He might have been out awhile, but it was unlikely anyone had been up to take it. Unfortunately, that also meant he had a walk ahead of him before he could find a phone.

Watson rolled over at the daylight spilling through the curtains, shifting the long arm draped over him. Curious. He turned. It was unlike Holmes to rest when he had a problem before him, no matter how exhausted from the previous case. Asleep, Holmes looked his age and less, the conscious and unconscious affectations gone with their audience at curtain down. Deciding for the moment not to look at the gift too closely, Watson resumed his rest.

"Dr. V, you better help me with these!" Janine kicked the small door shut, quickly rearranging the white and brown bags into a much less stable armful. She clicked over to her desk with her precarious load.

"You bellowed?" Peter slid into view, sprinting to save several of the uppermost bags. "Leave any food in Brooklyn?" He absently shifted the bags about, taking the heavier bags, and leaving Janine with a prodigious, but now secure, armful.

Peter led them upstairs and onto the spiral staircase, pausing only at the lab door. He pushed it open for Janine, trailing inside behind her. He waited, not wanting to disturb Ray. Janine started unpacking the food onto the endtable by the couch, finally prying bags from Peter. He called out to his friend, "Ray, I got food."

Janine's scowl at Peter disappeared before Ray turned around fully. "Janine!" He noticed the smell and then the sight of the food. "Thanks."

Winston was worried. He hadn't seen a powerpole in miles. Despite the well-watered vegetation, the road wasn't even tarred. Either one separately wasn't unheard of, but together it was worrying him. And, still no phone.

He heard wheels coming. Running for the hedgerow, he'd just pulled himself down as a wagon made the bend. It was heavily laden, the horses wearing padded collars he'd only seen on Clydesdales. The clip-clop of hooves and chip crunching wheels receded. It was no more the Budweiser team than the men driving were Pennsylvania Dutch.

"This is bad."

Watson affixed fresh cuffs and collar and headed to check on his patient. Who was gone. He hurried down the stairs, only to find the man in question at breakfast, wearing one of Holmes' more reputable dressing gowns. The long hair brushed straight back gave him a vaguely archaic look. Holmes had already finished eating and was pawing through a softsided bag.

The blond rose from the table. "Sir, I'm sorry that I've taken your bed." He held out his hand, a bit to the side of Watson. "Unfortunately, I cannot even properly introduce myself."

Watson glanced at his friend, before taking the stranger's hand. "Dr. Watson. Do not worry about it. How are you feeling?" He took his place at the remaining plate. Serving himself, he became impatient. "Holmes, what are you doing?"

"As you are aware, I'm a collector of many things. I'm trying to find the strongest set of lenses in my possession." He continued to root, causing a clutter on the hearth rug.

"Surely you'd never wear ones strong enough?" Watson watched their myopic guest with fear for the crockery and linens, knowing full well that Holmes might well risk his eyes so in proper similitude for one of his disguises.

Who was their guest? His movements were smooth and precise, his spatial sense aiding him in not chinking the dishes or spilling anything. Watson would have thought long hair preposterous in their day and age. Somehow, natural curl and all, the effect was almost that of a country squire of a previous era.

"Aha!" Holmes rose, all knees and elbows. "See if these are suitable."

The man schooled away the small twitch at lip and brow, accepting the proffered object delicately. Unfolding the side pieces he fitted them over his ears. "A definite improvement. Thank you."

"Watson, what do you make of our visitor? Don't be bashful; he can hardly contradict you." Holmes smiled at his friend's puzzlement. "He's suffering from amnesia." Finished with the cloth bag, he reached for his pipe, bypassing the dottles and filling it from the Persian slipper.

Watson peered into his patient's eyes. At length he assured himself they were even, if still out of focus with the borrowed glasses. "Do you mind if I speculate?"

"I'd be most grateful if you could tell me my identity."

Suspecting that Holmes had already deduced the very county of the man's birth and possibly having already sent a telegram to his kin, he set to oblige his friend. "I think it's fair to say you're not from the city, nor engaged in manual labor. From your colouration and height, I can only conclude you are from somewhere to the North. Clearly, your accent doesn't have that tone, so you've been abroad for extended time."

Holmes had the temerity to laugh. And not a short, stifled one, but a full throated laugh. Watson was torn between defending himself and apologizing to their guest. "Our dear doctor observes but still doesn't see. I do apologize." He nodded both to the guest and to Watson. "The matter is not as clear as is usually the case. You speak against labor, and yet I've every reason to believe he has recently been carrying over 3 stone on his back. Not just occasionally, but as a habit. Yet," he picked up his guests hand as if he were back at Bart's, "you can see his hands are not marked as they would be if he were a mason or a ditchdigger. In fact, he has a very noticeable writing callus."

"And chemical marks. What would cause these?" Watson kept the smile from his lips, with the aid of his moustache.

"Have you been experimenting with electricity?" With the question Holmes tired of the hand and returned it to its owner. "I'd have to run some tests, but I'd hazard that he's melted thin wire under less than controlled conditions."

Something Holmes knew a lot about. "An inventor. Holmes, that is not so far from my own comments."

"For entirely the wrong reasons. As to him being from the North, perhaps that's true, but not of England. Did you not notice how he held his cutlery?"

Drolly, the blond man picked up the knife in his left hand and the fork in his right. Watson looked at his own fork in his left.

Peter popped another soda for Ray, swapping out the empty. The engineer was in the zone; carbonated and caffeinated, he was unstoppable. Peter settled the can on top of the others, careful not to make too much noise. Janine had zonked out hours ago, and was now tucked under an afghan on the couch. Even Slimer had tired, though it had taken a fair part of the less choice leftovers to calm the spud.

He hated waiting. He hated staying quiet, hated having no way to help. He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't make himself leave even the lab. He looked over at the couch. Janine had understood, running the leftovers down to the fridge and bringing up a trash liner. He adjusted the afghan over her and slouched into the far corner.

Winston pulled the hanging "no ghost" logo off his jumpsuit and stuffed it into the pocket of his slacks before folding the blue cloth into a small parcel. Jamming it between his knees, he shook out the still damp shirt, and pulled it over his teeshirt. He had picked the washline with the most shirts, hoping he hadn't left a man without one.

He knew he was still horribly underdressed for wherever, or rather whenever, he was. Winston had noted that every laborer had at least a vest and hat. He was just lucky he'd not worn jeans. Ignoring that he didn't have even cuff or collar, he tucked his suit under an arm and headed onwards. Egon had to be around somewhere.

Ray looked from the datascreen to his calculations and back again, smiling. "Peter, this is great!" He turned, looking at the couch. His grin fell. His friend was twitching in his sleep. "Peter." Ray went to the couch to wake him, shaking Peter by the elbow, but he continued to jerk and toss silently. "Peter." Ray shook him harder, this time Peter clutching his hand, captured in a vise-like hold. Ray looked over at Janine, standing in the door, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"Venkman, wake up!"

Peter bolted upright, pulling Ray down onto the couch. He bleared around, his eyes still half-asleep. "They're still gone. Not just a nightmare."

Ray looked up from his sprawl. "I know more about where they went. They didn't go to the Netherworld."

Peter grabbed the coffee mug from Janine. He grimaced. "Put the whole cow in there?" Still, he continued to sip from it. "Where, Ray?"

"I'm still working on that. I'm pretty sure they're on earth, but it will take some time to localize where."

Peter thought of remote, inhospitable places without phones.

"It was a full four-dimensional backwash. So where is also a matter of when."

Watson observed Holmes grow increasingly agitated. Holmes had yet to fly from his chair, still trying to gather evidence from their visitor's habits. Gone was the usual apparent languor he assumed while ordering facts. Instead he twitched like a silk moth struggling from its cocoon. Holmes had stopped reaching for or asking to be passed commonplace books quite some time ago.

Watson tried to decipher what was causing Holmes so much consternation. He strongly doubted it was anything as venal as envy. Vain as Holmes was, he was always eager to find intelligence in others. He saved his baser impulses for mediocrity and ineptitude.

Watson was inclined to think this man, whoever he may be, was Holmes' equal. He'd identified the nature of the latest chemical experiments, perused the bookshelf like a child at an unfamiliar confectioner's and fluently answered Holmes' 'trick' of posing questions in various languages. Watson was still deciding if their guest had even noticed.

Before Watson worked himself into broaching the question, Holmes finally burst from the basketchair, "How can I not solve this problem?"

The blond responded. "It cannot be easy identifying a stranger you've never met. I should have the advantage, yet I haven't determined the answer."

Holmes halted, crooked his mouth wryly, and chortled. "I think that's a touché, don't you, Watson?"

Winston had made it into the city proper. Even without seeing a newspaper, he knew when he was. Bustles were after hoopskirts, so the latter part of the 19th century. After the Civil War. Though he was convinced that this was Britain and not America.

He took in his surroundings without letting himself be too distracted. He was going to find Egon, Egon was going help Ray find them, and Ray was going to get them back to the present. And he wasn't going to let Victorian.... wherever stop him.

There was a fair amount of building going on; apparently a spring constant for a big city, whether the 20th or the 19th century. And, as with big cities everywhere, building meant demolitions. Winston was mentally shaking his head as a crew tore into a particularly attractive building. And then he was running.

Debris came down just behind him, as he pushed pram and woman back on the sidewalk. He looked back, giving a small prayer. It appeared that part of the facade had come free from the coursing behind it. Workmen started hustling, carrying the parts of wall back with them.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" The question focused her, breaking her gaze from the decreasing rubble, setting her to checking the infant. Deciding that she'd only been startled, Winston started on his way.

He hadn't gotten far when there was a hand on his arm. He tensed for whatever was coming. "Don't hurry off before I can thank you." The man shaking his hand had on a better sort of coat, though it was covered in grit. "How did you know? That was some sprint! Running straight under it."

"The wall just didn't look right. Can't say if it buckled or it just leaned over." Winston looked up, watching as the men continued muscling the building apart. No safety wall, no hard hats.

"Well, I'm thankful you intervened." The man left after a final handshake

Winston glanced at the coins in his hand before slipping them into his pocket.

Ray worked out his schematics as Peter soldered components behind him. Janine was making order out of the chaos of callers complaining about missed appointments. From time to time he heard her putting rude ones in their places. They probably heard her in Newark, too.

Finished, the device would be a lot like the dimensional gate. In fact, he'd probably end up cannibalizing that device to pull the guys through. Right now, he needed to find coordinates.

"So, how does this thing work?" Peter straightened out the sketch he was following.

"It's going to let me scan for their biorhythms through time."

"We have to do an alley to alley search of a borough--"

"I'm going to send a signal." Ray looked at Peter. "It will be slow, but we'll find them. I have the readings to narrow the search."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"They'll be harder to find the faster we retrieve them." Ray watched Peter look at him puzzled. "The signal will have more to bounce off the longer they are in the past. Time's just perpendicular to the normal three dimensions. More time in the past, the bigger the target."

"And." Peter knew he didn't want to hear what Ray was going to say. No more than Ray wanted to tell him. He needed to know anyway.

"I won't be able to retrieve them sooner than when I find them. Maybe relative to us, but not according to Egon and Winston."

"And a big target means we weren't successful..." They might lose years. Peter pushed the thought back, returning to soldering. "Just find our needles in the haystack."

Holmes was stretched out reading the agony column. The newsprint's rustle and the wafting of his pipe were the main reminders he was still in the room. Watson struggled against remarking, as their guest didn't seem to mind. Instead he kept his attention on the chess board.

It had been their guest's invitation, and had solved his own loss at what to do. Unlike Holmes, the blond man was not impatient for his moves. While Watson doubted that it would be sufficient, he did notice an improvement in his game.

Winston finished his street vendor meal and straightened out the piece of newsprint. He now wore a coat and hat, purchased from a secondhand shop. The sweeper boys still ignored him, but he could tell they now spared a glance first.

He'd had already scolded a girl of maybe seven for trying to pick his pockets. Twenty years hadn't changed the city enough from Dickens' London. He could tell from the paper it was 1888. Too bad he couldn't just look up Sherlock Holmes.

Winston turned at a familiar sound, loping after the footfalls down an alley. Inside he looked around warily, finding it empty. He looked at the ground, spotting a print that matched his own boots. He stepped next to it and then back, seeing the expected difference in size.

He trailed the boot prints down the alley, noticing the toe marks at the blocking wall. Looking around cautiously, Winston jumped and followed.

Ray was engineering faster than Peter could follow, faster than he could decipher Ray's increasingly cryptic diagraming. The lines and symbols were still true, but the words could now as easily be Japanese.

Peter fidgeted on the couch. Generally he was in the lab either to get pry Egon away or help him finish whatever faster. He ran his fingers through his hair. Ray was now in a stretch too delicate for him to be any help, even in a support capacity. Waiting was the hardest part. He was much too worked up to read, and tv wasn't right. All he could do was hold vigil.

Winston had caught up with his quarry. The boy was so skinny he wondered if he'd even live long enough to grow into the boots. He asked, "Where'd you get them?"

The child tried to run and Winston caught hold of him. "Those are my friend's boots. Where did you find them?"

"My boots. Didn't steal 'em."

Winston tried to think. "Have you seen a blond man, taller than me?"

"'ve no seen nobody." He struggled to get away.

"Just show me where you found them. I'm not going to take them back."

The boy went slack and looked up. "You mean it?"

Winston looked from the tree and onto the green. He didn't know that he believed the kid about finding the boots in the tree. The underbrush, maybe. Where was Egon? It had taken most of the day for him to get this far. He started looking for some sign of his friend.

After a long time searching, Winston found Egon's glasses, or rather the bent, plastic frames. He pulled them free and slipped them into a pocket. He wondered if the lenses had even made it through.

"Be ya an inves'gator?"

Winston turned, noticing that it was an older boy, and that the child with the boots was gone. "I'm looking for my friend. He's blond, bit taller than me, looks more because of his build."

"Like 'olmes?"

Winston chuckled. "I suppose." He grew serious thinking about Egon fending for himself barefoot and nearly blind. It'd be dusk soon. "Have you seen him?"

"You mates?"

"Like brothers."

Ray looked at the display, trying to will a reading of the guys. Peter was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees. Ray had tried getting him to go for some air, but the most Peter had been out of the lab was about thirty minutes, and part of that was a shower.

Footsteps came faintly to them. Once they were on the metal stairs, Peter looked up. They weren't Janine's...

"There you are, my boy. Slow season already?" The jacket was blue houndstooth and the bow tie yellow. Rust brown hair hung a bit long around the balding head.

"Dad." Peter looked him over. "How'd you get past Janine?"

"Didn't see her. How are-"

"How'd you get in?" Not that he really needed to ask.

"I happened to be in the area, and I thought I'd visit."

"Damn it. You're on the run. I know it, you know I know it, Ray knows it. I don't have time. We've got a situation."

"I think Mrs. Hudson's been hasty." His eyes were on the street outside.

Watson turned to see Holmes rise from the couch and fold the paper. Then the bell rang again, followed by the inevitable footfalls on the stair. Mrs. Hudson stood on the landing behind the African man wearing a bowler.

"Egon!" Winston rushed into the room, looking his friend over for injuries.

Holmes nodded to Mrs. Hudson, who closed the door slowly. "You know our guest?"

Winston blinked. Even reading 221 Baker Street on the building, he hadn't believed; now he was face to face with a Paget illustration. He noted the jackknife in the mantle and the bearskin hearthrug."Sherlock Holmes. Yes. He's Egon Spengler. Dr. Egon Spengler."

"And your own name?" Holmes looked over the newest addition to the sitting room in his almost listless manner.

"Winston Zeddemore. Egon, are you okay?"

"I know you, sir?"

"No! I've had it with you waltzing in here neck deep. I don't want to hear it was on the up and up, more or less. "

"Son! Pet-"

"You're disturbing Ray, and he's my best chance of getting the guys back. Here---" Peter pulled out his wallet and counted out some money. "That's what I got, take it and get out of New York."

Charlie didn't try pushing the money back at his son. He was in trouble, and he did need to be on his way if he wasn't going to drag Peter into his problems. "Can I help before I go?"

Winston looked between the two Victorians. Neither was going to volunteer information.

"I didn't know myself until you returned my name."

Winston closed his eyes. He'd been depending on Egon to work out something to help Ray get them back. Plan B. "I found part of your glasses in the park but they were twisted badly." He noticed Holmes react to that as he was moving to the shelf. Commonplace books. He'd given the detective a name to work with...

He preempted the detective. "He's of the American branch." He turned back to Egon. "How did you find your way here?"

"It was more that my hosts found me. In the park."

"Mr. Zeddemore, would you elucidate on how Dr. Spengler came to be in the park, unconscious and his clothing in tatters?" Holmes was fingering through the S volume insouciantly.

Winston's eyes went wide. "Boots in the tree." It was a whisper. "We got separated." He continued to look Egon over for signs of damage.

"Of that I have no doubt. You have stopped at the establishment of one of our better secondhand merchants, where you've purchased coat and hat. The parcel you carry is consistent with a garment such as Dr. Spengler had been wearing. Yours must have faired much better, or you would not bother to retain it. You have spent the day traipsing through London. Those are the salient points."

"The question is: Why have you not wired for assistance?"

Ray sat at the bench taming a riot of wires as he rebuilt the transdimensional portal. Peter was acting as an ersatz scrubnurse, passing tools and parts, soldering behind Ray.

Both snuck glances at the monitor, their shorthand of tools and parts needed interspersed with assurances and queries that even the faintest possibilities of a signal match would be brought to their attention. They still looked up in snatches.

"How would I contact anyone that could help?" Winston reined in his frustration. He failed to come up with an explanation that wasn't in some way peculiar. "Dr. Spengler is the one with connections. I have no idea how to contact either his uncle or mother."

The door opened and one of the maids peeked in only to step back, starting to pull it closed again.

Holmes gained her attention. "You may serve dinner. Four tonight."

They were well into their meal when the downstairs bell rang. Holmes had only time to observe it was a woman before the observation was borne out. Watson and Holmes both stepped away from the table, while Egon and Winston sat back down. Watson guided the lady into a chair, making her comfortable and putting her at ease.

"It didn't occur to me you'd be supping. That's how filled with worry I am presently."

"Please explain the matter, starting at the beginning."

"My name is Violet Hamsley and I function as a governess at a relative's house. A fortunate arrangement, I know only too well from my friends not so lucky in their own situations. We are of a mind on what is best for the children, in breadth at any rate."

"It is not because of that that I come tonight. I've had a suitor; my kin know of him and approve, and he has disappeared. I know what you will say, but I am very sure of the gentleman. He would have explained, had his feelings changed."

"What can you tell me of your suitor?"

Janine brought in a moderately large box from their favorite electronics supplyhouse. "Here you go, Ray." She set down the box in a clear spot. "I'm going home, but you call me if anything happens, got it?" She looked from Ray to Peter and back.

Ray nodded slowly with a small frown. "Thanks for running for parts. We'll call." He watched her give the lab one more concerned sweep before leaving and pulling the door shut carefully.

Watson returned to his plate once the governess had departed. "How will you start, Holmes?"

"I'm not convinced that this holds any interest." Holmes ignored the table and claimed his pipe instead. "It's an old story." He took his seat by the fire, ruminative. "It would not be the first time a suitor wooed, then disappeared, upon finding a chimerical living."

"Who is supposing before the facts now?" Watson recalled that they were not alone. "If it is so common, would it not be a simple matter to prove?"

"Very well. One would almost think you'd like to be sure the field was clear for your own suit. I will look into this matter of the missing Mr. Hazelton." Holmes turned to Zeddemore and Spengler. "Would I be correct in inferring that you did not get so far as securing rooms?"

Peter was hovering behind Ray. The engineer was bent over the monitor, adjusting and tinkering. He'd bounded over fifteen minutes ago, responding to something so arcane Peter still wasn't sure if it had been a sound or a light.

"I've got them!" Ray reached back for Peter and pointed at the right part of the screen. "Egon's going to have a blast looking at this data set. You'll never guess where they are."

Peter slung an arm over Ray's shoulder. "Don't need to. Tell me though." Peter let go, and snagged some of the larger components so they could work on assembling the transdimensional and now temporal portal.

"1888. A hundred years!"

"And 'when' will be a place. Wild West, Tahiti?" There was a trace of worry under Peter's banter.

Ray looked back. "I think it's England."

Winston sat up as the gaslight from the bay window lost out to the coming day. He looked to the door, wondering how much earlier it had been when Holmes had slipped out of the rooms. Winston had slept in worse places than a settee; fortunately, this one was nearly long enough even for Holmes. Uncertain as to what else he might do, he went to see if he could find Watson's room.

"Egon?" Winston knocked quietly, hoping he'd picked the right door. He was stepping away to return to the sitting room when the door opened slightly.

"Mr. Zeddemore?" The pale hair was hanging down, the combed side distinctly waved.

If it wasn't for the hair and glasses, Egon could have been at the firehouse. The borrowed nightshirt didn't look any different than the ones he wore at home. "Do you remember anything?"

"I remember an extensive inventory of things. If you mean personal memories, no." He pulled the door wider. "We might at least not disturb our hosts so early." He watched the man's greater than idle curiosity at taking in the chamber and its contents. He turned back to the glass to finish combing his hair. "We are colleagues?"

Winston wished he'd asked Peter at some point what was the right way to deal with an amnesia victim. Heaven knew it was a common plot point in mysteries, yet somehow he'd never asked the psychologist. "Business partners. The guys are going to be worried. Doctors Stantz and Venkman."

"You don't normally call them that. What sort of business needs three doctors? I'm sure I'm not a physician of any sort."

Winston couldn't stifle the chuckle completely. He'd wondered that when he'd interviewed. "Applied research science. We fix problems others laugh at."

Holmes, in the guise of an itinerant tinker, had made a survey of the lands and lanes around the once country manor. Its grounds still extensive, it was starting to be hemmed in by neighbors.

The weather had been too variable for there to be any evidence regarding the missing beau; Holmes wasn't searching for that sort of clue. He looked at the threads caught on the bush at a recent break. He'd almost discounted them as spiderwebs, until the light caught them just so. Arachnids simply didn't spin in such colors. Pulling out a cigarette paper, he detached them carefully and stuffed the folded piece back into his pocket.

Holmes tightened his net, searching the shrubbery. He found more broken, bent or bare branches. The sort of leavings particular to fast passage. Curiously they were situated all wrong. Too far in or up, without nearly a sufficient amount of damage. Intriguing.

Watson looked up from the paper as Holmes breezed into the sitting room. Holmes scowled at the couch, stripped of its linens. He turned to Winston, staring down into his hair.

The close inspection stretched into minutes, Holmes circling until finally dropping into a chair. Watson opened his mouth, but Holmes spoke first. "You've presented a capital opportunity for a student of man such as myself. Fact is a curative to rumor." He turned to Watson. "I'm still uncertain regarding the fiance, yet something interesting is afoot." Holmes bounded from the chair over to the bench. Pulling out the twisted cigarette papers, he tweezed out a filament onto a slide, placing a cover and fixing the whole into the microscope.

"Doctor Spengler, would you take a look at this? Watson, you as well."

Egon peered down, adjusting the magnification quickly. "Interesting." After several moments, he readjusted the scope before turning it over to Watson.

"My word. Holmes, where did you find this? Is there more?"

Holmes smiled. "A few more strands that I plucked from bushes. Someone, or something, was in a great hurry."

"Some_thing_?" Winston glanced at Egon, noticing the look of experiments being planned.

"I do not suppose before the facts. I'm uncertain by what means those fibers were caught at heights of four to eight feet without snags lower down." He paused. "I will find out, though. Watson, we have enough time to pack and catch the train."

"I think we should join you." Egon's words caught Holmes' attention. "I may not remember, but from Mr. Zeddemore's account, this may be a matter within our own profession." His colleague, Mr. Zeddemore, had given a less than satisfactory explanation of their business. His reactions now were more informative.

Holmes blinked. "Very well. We shall have to hurry to make the train."

Winston had thought the attention paid to the group at the station was because of Holmes. Then he realized, if at least part of the publishing history was true, that only one of the stories was in print. They boarded and took a compartment.

Now seated, Holmes leaned forward. "The attention actually took you by surprise."

"Peter's the one that works the crowds." Winston did his best not to let the slip, of using a first name, register on his face. Holmes would be pulling every thread together.

Holmes quirked an eyebrow. "I will some day need to make a study of American customs. Travel between the two continents will only ease further."

Winston took in his surroundings. Doyle, or rather, Watson hadn't spared many words for prosaic details that the readers were inundated with daily. There was quite a shimmy to the carriage despite the comparatively slow speeds. The sheer amount of wood lavished on the cramped space... And it was cramped. Had Holmes set opposite Egon, their knees would have knitted.

"Mr. Zeddemore."

Winston looked up, startled to see that both Holmes and Watson had left the compartment.

"I didn't intend to disturb you. There was a point I hadn't inquired... Is there a lady that I've been courting? At home."

"Why do you ask?" Something about Egon's manner suggested the question was related to the mission they were on. "No." Winston waited.

"Oh." Egon settled back stiffly into the seat. After a few moments he spoke. "I thought... I was wondering about a red haired woman."

Winston smiled. "Janine." He became more serious. "Is that the only thing you've remembered?"

Egon didn't answer. "I've not been courting her?"

Winston didn't reply.

"I'll have to rectify that when we return."

Winston did not notice if the jolt of the train's braking or the return of Holmes and Watson came first. He was swept out of the compartment and then the carriage along with the rest of the luggage.

The first order of affairs was finding rooms at the inn. Holmes and the Keep quickly concluded their business, and they were shown to facing rooms. Winston and Egon were still looking at the single bed when Holmes came to the door.

"I've a dogcart. The light is waning."

The four climbed in, Holmes taking the reins. Afternoon was in its latter reaches, though hours yet remained before dark. After a jolting ride, Holmes pulled up the horse. He made no move from the seat, instead pulling out his cigarette case and a vesta. Winston got out of the cart, Egon following.

Winston turned back to Egon, who was standing in some consternation. Winston started to ask what was wrong.

"I should be taking readings..." The confusion of what sort of readings and how to register them was evident in the man's bass voice.

"Peter-" Winston stopped short. He peered closely at the terrain, the scattered bushes in a mostly clear park. He walked slowly forward, careful not to trample any traces.

"What were you about to say regarding Dr. Venkman?" Egon followed at some distance, with similar care, keeping his feet to the prints freshly made.

"Peter would say _you'd_ want a PKE meter even if you'd forgotten what one was."

"More controlled conditions would have been better to test the hypothesis." Egon scanned the area. "Does anything suggest itself?"

Winston held up his hand and started going from bush to bush, back and forth, then following like a live version of connect the dots. He waved back at the cart, having stopped at some remove from the last bush.

Holmes and Watson joined him, Holmes nearly falling to the ground with his eyeglass in hand. After some study, his eyes darted up, along the bushes and to either side. Ruminating and clearly bringing to mind his earlier investigations he rushed to one side, springing along like a hound upon the fox's trail. "Of all the blunders." Further snatches of deprecations were half muffled by distance.

Watson searched the ground, looking up perplexed from the nettle to Winston's face.

"A pursued needs a pursuer." Winston strode off to join Holmes. Watson followed.

They found Holmes and Egon beyond the bushes, Holmes looking ruefully at the ground. "Before the rain I could have identified the ash. Presently, it is nearly useless. Watson, this has turned into a pretty problem. At least two persons conspired to chase and capture... Confound it, what were they flushing?"

Winston waited. "I think we might want to call on Miss Hamsley."

"What caught those threads on the bushes?" Watson asked.

"I.." Winston didn't think his suspicion would be considered so favorably as improbable. Not by an agency that stood flat-footed on the ground.

Holmes interjected, "Commendable to seek collaboration first."

They quickly reached the front of the manor house. The proprieties of gaining admittance to speak with the young woman took much longer. She entered the library at last.

"Have you found some trace of him?"

"We have several clues, but are still missing some pieces. Pieces I believe you hold." Holmes waited and observed her reaction.

It was calm. "They must be very small; I cannot see them. Please ask and I will pick them out."

"Does your fiance smoke?"

"No."

"Play at cards?"

"Rubbers of whist when it suits my aunt. She's taken with him as a partner."

"He walks rather than rides?"

She smiled. "To better see the flowers in the field. And the other flora and fauna."

Winston took the opening. "Is he something of a naturalist?"

"Not as far as collecting beetles. It's really a more informal pastime. He can always find something new to point out, even in the garden." She blushed faintly.

"Could you show us the garden? It was the site of your meeting." Holmes rose, eager.

Winston noticed the sharp flash in her eye. Definitely hiding something.

"The garden is quite muddy."

"Splendid. Perhaps you can point out a footprint. Such impressions are very distinctive. Weight, height, so much more information than mere direction." Holmes was sheparding her from the room as he talked, paying no heed to her discomforture.

"We'll be most careful of the bushes and flowerbeds." Watson assured her.

Winston restrained a smile at the maneuver and countermaneuver Holmes and Watson deployed.

The four were shown to a large garden surrounded by a stone wall. Small tables were scattered where they could alternately receive shade and sun. Holmes dashed out, while Winston was more cautious of Watson's assurances.

Egon peered down under a bush. Observing the gravyboat, he got Winston's attention. He stuck a finger into it. "The water is still warm."

Winston looked up and around. He didn't see any of the threads. Of course, people didn't generally tear their clothing. "Well, at least some of them are safe. For the moment."

From the other side of the garden, Holmes and Miss Hamsley reacted. Holmes atwitch with curiosity, Violet concerned. Both came over, she rushing in her skirts to keep up.

Holmes peered at the gravyboat before picking it up, noting that it was filled with heated water. His fingers worried at the sanded chips in the porcelain. "One of those missing pieces." He mused into the water, noting the bits of herbs at the bottom. "The picture is turning most interesting. Reading--"

A blur shot from the shrubbery, heading straight for Violet. The men blinked at the vision of a small, winged woman, Holmes somewhat harder than the rest. She was perhaps twelve inches tall in a pale blue shift that matched her large, translucent, butterfly-like wings. Violet looked askance at the fairy, turning as if she could hide the hovering being.

After a few moments, the governess turned back, looking quite pale. Watson guided her to a close-by bench. The miniature woman looked back and then towards the other three, flying past each in turn before approaching Holmes.

Her voice was impossibly high, tinkling. "Her fiance was trying to rescue our friends. They took him prisoner too."

"Our? They?" Holmes snapped his jaw shut, speechless as several other winged damsels crept from the bushes and took flight. Each was color-coordinated, gowns to wings. It took him a moment to separate from their movement just how few they were. "Who are they? Why and how did they capture the others?"

A rosy one spoke this time. "We don't know. They went beyond the rails."

"Because they are iron." Winston thought for a moment. Like vampires, they apparently could be carried over what they couldn't cross on their own. "We're back to one puzzle rather than two. Can you follow the cold trail?"

Holmes smiled slightly. "It would have to be much older to be truly cold."

Light spilled into the main floor of the firehouse and across the growing collection of wire-trailing equipment. Ray and Peter were still bringing stuff down from the lab, Ray in front and backwards. Peter complained, "Why couldn't we do this in the lab?"

"And risk igniting something?" When Peter didn't grouse, Ray continued. "I just want enough room if they come running. We'd just have had to carry all the packs upstairs anyway."

"Couldn't you have at least put some of this bigger stuff together downstairs?" Peter hit a step wrong and had to fight to stay upright. His end sagged dangerously, before he regained control.

Ray set to work assembling the parts together, asking for tools and passing them back. He noticed Peter's sigh once he had the viewer attached and working again. Ray methodically connected the rest of the wires and finally the cables from the packs, slowly powering up the portal. The air between them and Ecto billowed and went opaque. A serving platter sized disk coalesced, its surface rippling.

"That's not big enough!"

Ray looked over his shoulder and his eyes went big. "DROP!!!!" The platter burst apart.

It was true that the trail wasn't cold. It did have extremely cool patches, though. The light was failing and a fog promising rain was coming. Holmes was muttering something about 'for lack of a lantern.' Then, there was light.

Watson's mouth opened slightly as the fairy brightened, becoming incandescent. She was a small green glow, aflame from her tiny toes to her widespread wings. Holmes didn't notice the strange cast, just slithered along the ground searching for clues. Watson looked back at the other two. Dr. Spengler appeared fascinated, without a hint of disapproval, perhaps as if Holmes were a new bird to be reported to the Royal Society. Mr. Zeddemore's expression was more puzzling, almost anticipatory, as if Holmes was confirming something he expected.

Winston quickly stuck out the back of his hand as the fairy sagged and grew dim. She alighted and stumbled, folding into a seated position. A lemony illumination replaced her over Holmes. Winston kept his hand out, bearing the exhausted fae.

As they neared the rails, the fairies held back as if trying to fly into a wind. One stepped onto Dr. Spengler's shoulder, while another alighted onto Dr. Watson. Soon each of the standing men had several passengers, while a lone fairy continued to provide Holmes with light from his shoulder.

One the other side of the tracks they each sprang from their perches, except for the initial light who stayed with Winston. Dr. Watson looked at them as they twittered together, holding hands as they flew. Gossipping like mortal ladies and probably each much older than himself. Now a pink one glowed by Holmes.

"Hood the lattern if you love me!" Holmes looked at the drab structure ahead. A sluggish stream snaked near and a small cinder pile sat to one side. Neither was big enough for a manufacturing concern. And yet, there was dim light coming from a cleaned window high above the floor. "I'm going to reconnoiter." Before he could crawl out, several sets of feet passed over his head, gaining altitude as the fairies separated.

In the end it was a simple matter to pick off the scattered guards, if one could so ennoble the casual laborers employed by such a term. Wisely, they had been kept from seeing the captive fairies; it also made them easily boggled by the free flyers and quick work to subdue. Cornering the 'masterminds', another generous term, required more care and ultimately was assisted by their failed recall of their full sized captive. He swept their legs out from his place on the floor.

Holmes saw to the ropes and knots binding the now-found fiance, pointing out little things to Watson all the while. Winston and Egon meanwhile swept a path through the nails and other ferrous detritus that kept the fairies from simply walking out of the openwork 'cage' that was erected over the run of wooden benches.

Watson looked at the captured men with indignation. He turned to his companion. "Holmes, whatever will we do with them?"

Holmes looked at them sharply, and tilted towards Watson. "You have also concluded that the legal system hasn't an appropriate charge. I fear we shall have to improvise a punishment." The cast of his face took on a most unholy hardness.

"I say." The fiance was discreetly flexing his freed limbs. "The British system is not the only jurisdiction in this matter." He continued as Holmes swiveled. "Surely the fairies have the right to seek their own redress?"

Holmes acceded once he shook off the shock. He was vaguely aware as the fairies tasked a few to fetch whatever aid they relied on at such moments. The rest flew about in pairs and threes as the former prisoners regained their wings. Holmes was preternaturally aware of the carriage ride back to the manor, and yet unquestioning of their route, which seemed not to pass over the rails, or their horses' provenance. They pulled up beside the stone wall seperating them from the garden.

Violet rushed back into the garden from the house, candle in hand. She gripped her fiance's arm with the other, then assured she circled him to verify his health. Finding him apparently whole, she continued her counterclockwise orbit.

Mr. Hazelton wavered. His very shoulders seemed to lose their breadth and his stature shortened. Features sharpened, limbs lengthened. The transformation left a figure bearing a distinct but much changed relation to the former stolid form. The unremarkably respectable suit had also been replaced, with a dark costume of vaguely Elizabethan flavor. He smiled as Violet touched his face and pulled back his hair from now pointed ears.

"What? How?"

"I saw you when I came to check on my subjects." He nodded to the fluttering fairies. "I had to meet you. Will you be my queen?"

She looked at him, almost stared. "Yes." She took his arm, gazing at his face.

The lovers strolled further into the grounds, the others giving them some privacy. Winston was trying to make some sense of it all when one of the rescued fairies flitted over. She started to tumble and Winston reached out. She skipped a few steps over his palm, finally curtsying deeply. Winston looked at her puzzled.

"Thank you, your Highness." She then sprang up on her toes and kissed him on one cheek before flying back to her sisters.

Ray stepped back from the portal yet again. They had recovered from the first setback and were working on at least number five. Peter, he suspected, was counting more finely. "Try her again."

Peter flipped switches, turned knobs and pressed down the trigger button. He'd argued that Ray, as their expert, should stay clear of the device. That Ray would be better able to repair it if he didn't have it blow up in his face. Peter needed something to do, and while the portal wasn't Betsy, it wasn't _that_ different. The rippling platter coalesced, and Peter worked to steady it, gradually increasing its size to where Egon and Winston could slip through. "One manhole cover for a timetunnel. Where are they?"

They had returned to London on an early train. Watson was at his desk flipping through his mail once Holmes finished observing the various exterior details. "Holmes!" He gestured with an envelope at the sovereign sized 'hole' hanging below the ceiling. It was an inexplicable absence, a rupture. The hole pulsed, growing by degrees.

Winston and Egon both approached it, Egon adjusting the borrowed spectacles this way and that. Winston pulled him down as the disk expanded. They looked up. It was the size of Mrs. Hudson's serving tray.

"It's got to be the guys." Winston exclaimed.

Three people looked at him questioningly.

"No infernal hosts spewing forth," he explained. Egon nodded his head slightly. Holmes looked on intrigued, while Watson was aghast. "And, it looks like a new trick. When was the last time a demon tried something new?" Winston looked at it, judging size logistics.

Holmes came closer and tossed an untouched kipper through the portal. "A test is in order."

"Ray!" Peter couldn't see past the equipment; something had come through.

"Fish." Ray looked excitedly at the screens.

"Flying fish?"

Ray went over to it. "Cooked fish." He pointed a PKE meter at it. "Normal except for some rapid tachyon decay."

"Why..." Peter looked over at Janine's desk. "Snap off part of the cactus and toss it through. Just do it!"

"Zygocactus truncatus." Holmes felt the fresh end. "Your friends?"

"Janine has one on her desk." Egon looked over the memory with novelty. He stuck his hand into the hole, slowly up to his elbow. He pulled it back whole. "It's time for us to leave. Thank you for your hospitality."

Winston came tumbling from the portal, rolling into the fall. He looked at Peter and Ray. "You always do that." He stood, brushing himself off, "Just once, I want to come through--" His eyes widened as the portal started to shrink. It stabilized at a smaller size. Winston noticed the click of heels on hard floor as Janine entered the firehouse.

Egon came through onto his feet. Through the inadequate lenses, he took in the room and then people, one by one.

Winston flinched as Egon gazed at Janine. Peter was still behind the portal apparatus, powering down.

Holmes was looking at the shrinking gap, at a loss for any useful instruments to quantify and qualify the event. At the size of a hand mirror, it lightened revealing a large room and five figures including Dr. Spengler and Mr. Zeddemore. "Please pick up your jaw, Watson. Surely the Hindus wore nearly as little. Apparently women's fashion will exchange one impracticality for another for some time."

Egon looked at the dark haired man. Then to the red haired woman, Janine. He turned back. Peter. He looked between them, and started walking forward. He stepped around the equipment and pulled Peter tight, cupping his head. He interrupted Peter's concerned pat down by leaning in for a kiss. Egon and Peter twined together.

Janine looked down. She glanced at them again and then away. "Hey, what happened to my plant?!"


End file.
